


The Best of Both Worlds

by S_Faith



Series: Between a Rock and a Hard Place [2]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life goes on in a rather unconventional family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Calm and Normal Life

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up to [A Rock and a Hard Place](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4054009/chapters/9122098). Picks up five days after the last chapter of that story.

_The bonds of wedlock are so heavy that it takes two to carry them—sometimes three._

_—Alexandre Dumas_

* * *

### Thurs, 28 Jan 2016

Roughly three months post-transplant, although it was too soon to declare total success in the form of remission, it was very clear that the procedure had done precisely what it was supposed to have done. Mabel was almost back to her boisterous self, and was actually looking forward to returning to school. Despite this evidence of success, Bridget still felt guilty about planning the minibreak with Mark.

"We're not going to Mars, darling," he said as she stood before her half-packed mini-suitcase. "If something arises, we can be back in a flash. But I doubt anything will happen." He came closer to her, wrapped his arms around her for a reassuring embrace; she fit against his chest like they were two pieces of a puzzle. She leaned back into him, closing her eyes.

"We've spent so long in fire-fighting mode," she murmured, "that I've almost forgotten how to live normally." She felt his warm breath on her cheek, then a little kiss near her ear.

"Get used to it," he said. "I have every intention of keeping life as calm and normal as possible."

"Calm and normal," she repeated. It sounded so dull on its face, but she welcomed it wholeheartedly.

"Hey, Mummy." 

She opened her eyes to see Billy standing there. To her delight she saw Billy had a happy expression.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"When are you and Daddy leaving?"

She laughed lightly. On their way out of town, they were bringing Mabel to stay with Oleander; Mabel had declared she wanted 'girl time' while the boys did something together. She didn't know what that 'something' was, except that it was sport-related. "We'll be leaving by five," Bridget said, "if you want to plan the rest of your night."

Billy grinned. "Okay! We have time for some Xbox, then!" He then dashed out.

"So," said Mark quietly, "how much do you _really_ need to pack for a long weekend… when it's doubtful we'll even leave the premises?"

She felt her cheeks turn pink, but said, "I think you mean the suite."

"How about I finish with your bag," Mark said, "and you go and pack up Mabel's things?"

She suspected that he would only pack dressing gowns and lacy pants, but she found she didn't much care. "Sounds like a deal."

She went to Mabel's room and found her in front of the mirror. Her wig was off, and she was inspecting her short hair carefully. Mabel didn't know that her mother was watching, and Bridget kept quiet. Mabel reached over and plucked a glittering barrette out of the bowl on her bureau, then used it to pin a bit of hair off to the side. She smiled proudly at her own reflection.

Bridget clapped her hand over her mouth, tears flooding her eyes; she was unexpectedly overwhelmed with emotion. The reality of her daughter's recovery struck her all at once. A little sob escaped her throat, which got Mabel's attention.

"Mummy? Are you okay?"

Bridget nodded. "I was just thinking how happy I am to see you doing normal stuff," she said, sniffing, then lifting her chin with a smile. "Nice barrette."

"Thanks," she said.

"Going to wear that instead of the wig?"

Mabel hesitated, then nodded. "I love the wig," she said, "but now sometimes with the hair, my head gets a little hot. Plus it falls off sometimes when we—" She stopped; Bridget sensed she might be about to admit to something she shouldn't be doing. "—play rock star," she finished quietly.

"As long as you're not overexerting yourself," said Bridget, "it's okay. What's 'rock star'?"

"Jake has some old, dead instruments that we use and mime to music," she said. "It's a lot of fun. We let Finn be the backup singer."

Bridget laughed, then reached to take Mabel into her arms. "I love you, baby."

"I know, Mummy," she said, her voice muffled in Bridget's shirt as she hugged her mother tightly in return. "I love you, too. And Daddy, and Dah, and Billy, Matt, and Fred."

"I know, baby," she said, combing her fingers over the short hair, almost seven centimetres by now, if she had to guess. The vitamins and other boosters really seemed to help, and the new hair seemed very healthy. She then kissed her on the head before she let her go, taking her little face between her hands, basking in the roundness that had returned to Mabel's cheeks, the sparkle that had returned to her eyes. "I know." She then let her go. "I'm here to help you put your things together for your sleepover, so why don't I help you?"

"I'm all packed up, Mummy," she said. "Dah helped."

Surprised, she said, "Oh. Wonderful." Bridget realised yet again how terrific it was to have three parents around. "I'll just… double check, make sure he didn't forget anything."

"He didn't," said Mabel confidently, and as it turned out, she was right.

"Well," said Bridget said. "I'd better go see if Daddy packed my bag."

"Maybe Dah can check yours, too."

Bridget felt heat flood her cheeks. "That's quite all right," said Bridget. "I trust Daddy to get it right." She glanced to the clock on the wall; still too soon to leave, but she wanted to make sure Scott was set for the weekend. "Going to go see how his progress is going, then see how Dah's doing."

"Okay," she said. "And kiss him goodbye?"

"Well, yes," she said. "I won't see him again until Sunday night."

"Mummy," said Mabel, a hint of tentativeness in her tone, "is Daddy your boyfriend, too?"

Bridget had no idea where this was coming from all of a sudden, but thought there was no time like the present. "It is a little complicated, isn't it?" she asked. "As you know, I was married to Daddy. I still am, and I love him as much as I ever have. But when I thought he was gone forever, I found Dah—or Mr Wallaker, as we called him then—" She winked to Mabel, who giggled. "—and I love him, too." She took in a breath, then exhaled. "The thought of sending one of them off broke my heart, but luckily, they both agreed it was a good idea to stay. Lots of people think you can only love and be true to one person at a time. Those people don't understand our situation here, so I don't tell them the whole story unless I think they'd understand. Do you know what I mean?"

Mabel looked a little uncertain. "I think so."

She clearly didn't. "I just mean that it's not something you should discuss with people that don't know us well."

"Like a secret?"

"Kind of," she said, "but not in a bad or shameful way. There are some people we trust not to hurt us by knowing, like Uncle Tom, Auntie Jude… even Granny Pam and Granny Elaine. Other people, though… they wouldn't understand, and so they don't need to know." She thought back to Finch's interview fiasco, which had thankfully not gained any traction, and had quickly died into obscurity. "So we just tell them Daddy lives here so we can all be close together."

Mabel looked thoughtful. "What about Oli and Finn?"

This was a trickier one to answer. "Of course we trust them," she said after a moment's thought, "but they might not totally understand because they're young."

"But I'm young, too," she said.

"But I think you understand," Bridget explained, "because you live here. You can tell that I love them both equally, right? And that we are all happy here together?"

Mabel nodded, then smiled. "Okay."

"Okay," she repeated. "I guess if Oli asks you, you could try to explain… if you think she would understand. But I would say otherwise to err on the side of caution."

"To what?"

"I mean just use caution. Be careful," she said, then bent and kissed her on the head again. "That sounds a bit paranoid, doesn't it? I'm sorry. I don't mean to be. I just want to protect what we have here, because I love having us all here together."

Mabel beamed a bright smile. "I love it too."

"Good. Glad that's sorted," she said. "Okay, let me go find Dah, and I'll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes. Sound all right?"

Mabel nodded. "I want to put in another barrette."

"You can put in ten more if you like," she said with a wink, then went to find Scott straight away. 

Scott turned out to be in the garage, bent down over the open bonnet of Mark's car. She stifled a chuckle. "What are you doing?"

"Checking the fluid levels," he said, then stood up straight. "Just want to make sure you have a safe drive."

"The verdict?"

"Looks good."

She embraced him. "Thank you," she said, then kissed him. As she thought about how much she'd miss him, she deepened the kiss, raking her nails through his hair; he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close.

"Bridget," he said in a low tone as he broke away, "this is a terrible thing to do to me before you're about to leave for four days."

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she said, backing away from him, patting his face tenderly. "I'll just miss you, that's all."

"You're going for the weekend, not a year," he said; his mouth was quirked in a slight smile. "Thank goodness."

"I know," she said. "I've just gotten so used to _this_ … having you both near." She thought of her conversation with Mabel, and sighed. Her shoulders slumped.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She explained the conversation she'd just had with Mabel. "I'm not sure how we managed to not explain to the children," she said. "Do you think that you could, maybe, cover the bases with the boys while we're away?"

"Oh," he said. Bridget saw his skin tint pink. 

She said, "Mabel asked me if Mark was my boyfriend, too. I wonder if Billy has similar thoughts and has just been too shy to ask."

Scott smiled, then chuckled. "Okay," he said. "I'll talk with Matt and Fred, though I suspect they already know. Well. I suspect Matt does, anyway. He's not stupid, and is a teenage boy, to boot."

She chuckled too, then sighed again. "I just don't want them to feel like we're doing something wrong," she said fretfully. "What we have is right for us." She sniffed again. 

"I know," he said, offering another reassuring smile. "So. Are you ready to go? What about Mabel?"

"She is putting barrettes in her hair," she said. "Thank you for helping her with her bag. Perfect."

"Of course." He raised his hand, stroking his thumb on her face. "Hope you have a lovely weekend."

"I'm sure we will."

He leaned then gave her a brief kiss. "I'll look forward to having you back."

She smiled. "Have fun with the boys, with… whatever it is you have planned."

"Boy secrets," he said with a wink.

They left the garage together to go back into the house. Mabel was in the foyer and had at least five barrettes in her hair now, and a bright grin on her face. "I'm all ready!" she said. "Daddy's coming down in a minute. He's got your bags, Mummy."

"Terrific," said Bridget, just as Mark appeared descending the stairs, a bag in each hand.

"Billy!" called Mark. "Fred! Matt! We're leaving!"

A scrambling sound came from the media room, then the boys came out one at a time. Billy ran over to Bridget to give her a hug.

"Behave yourself," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Love you."

"Of course, Mummy," Billy said, tightening his arms briefly. "Love you too." Then he ran to Mark to give him a hug, too.

Matt hugged her next, then Fred. "Have a good weekend," she said, "with whatever your super-secret boy stuff is."

Fred chuckled. "It's just—"

"Shh, said Matt with a wink. "It's super-secret."

"Bye, Mabes," said Matt, bending to give her a hug. "Have a good time with Oli."

"Bye," she said. "And we will."

"Mark," Scott said. "Have a good weekend."

Mark nodded. "I'll take good care of her."

"I know you will."

After Scott took Mabel into his arms for a brief hug, she, Bridget and Mark loaded into the car, and then they were off.

"Daddy?" asked Mabel, about halfway to Chalk Farm Road.

"Yes, darling?" said Mark.

"Are you and Mummy going to have a shag marathon?"

" _Mabel_ ," Bridget said with exasperation.

"Where on earth did you hear that?" Mark asked tersely.

"Auntie Shazzer said that to Mummy," she said. 

Bridget covered her mouth with her hand; she had not realised that Mabel was in earshot for that conversation with her long-time friend over FaceTime. 

Bridget watched Mark's jaw tense then relax; whether from irritation or amusement, she didn't know. "That's not really a polite thing to ask someone."

"What is a 'shag marathon', anyway?"

She saw Mark's skin flush crimson; his answer was typically evasive. "Maybe you should be more cautious asking about… _something_ … when you're not sure what it is," he said.

"Daddy's all red," she observed.

"Mabel," said Bridget, "it's something that adults, er, enjoy in private, but it can be embarrassing for them to talk about."

"But what _is_ it?"

"When you're a little older," Mark said, "we'll explain it to you."

"Oh!" said Mabel, as if inspired. "Is it a girlfriend-boyfriend thing?"

"Yes," said Bridget, a rush of relief. "And like I said, it's private."

"Like sex?"

For a moment, Bridget thought Mark might actually run the car directly off the road.

"Actually," said Bridget cautiously, "yes. This is something we should talk about more when we get back—and it's not something you should be telling anyone about."

"'Cos it's private."

"Yes," Mark said.

They arrived to Rebecca and Jake's house, greeted at the door by Oleander and Rebecca. "I love your barrettes!" was the first thing out of Oleander's mouth. Mabel looked very pleased with herself. Bridget was just glad her hair was no longer an issue.

"All right, you behave yourself," said Bridget, hugging her tightly. "We'll see you on Sunday."

"Okay, Mummy, I will." She smacked a loud kiss on Bridget's cheek. "I love you."

"Love you too, sweetheart."

"Love you, Daddy," said Mabel; Mark swooped her up into his arms, and she wrapped her arms around his neck for a tight hug. It was clear by the blissful expression on his face that whatever annoyance he'd felt over the 'shag marathon' conversation had dissipated in an instant. His hand held her close, practically spanning her back.

"Love you too, darling," she heard Mark murmur, raising his hand to cradle the back of her head, before kissing her cheek then setting her down.

"You two have a nice weekend," said Rebecca, smiling fondly not only at Bridget, but at Mark too. She had definitely seemed to warm to Mark. "We'll have a great time, just us girls."

"Yay!" said Mabel and Oleander in unison. "Girl time! Girl time!"

"Come on," said Oleander. "Let's go play with the keyboard!"

Oleander took Mabel's bag then the two of them dashed upstairs. Once they were gone, Rebecca spoke again. "I think I owe you an apology," she said, looking directly at Mark. "I'm not too proud to say that. But you are all obviously very happy in your situation, and for that, I'm glad."

"I appreciate it," said Mark, who looked surprised, but pleasantly so.

"And I…" Rebecca laughed. "I'm afraid that I am starting to become a little too conventional, with only _one_ husband…."

"This from a woman who puts fairy lights in her hair," Bridget said with a chuckle. 

Rebecca reached out to hug her friend, then gave Mark a hug, too. She winked. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Bridget burst out with a laugh, but felt her skin flush with embarrassment. "Bye, Rebecca."

With that they were off again, heading northeast for the almost two hour drive to the hotel where they had begun their relationship a little over twenty years earlier. She reached over and placed her hand over where his rested on the gear shift.

He didn't look to her, but she saw the smile play on his lips.

The drive seemed to be interminable for the anticipation in their arrival. They had managed to arrange the very same suite as they'd had the first time they were there, though it had undergone a few upgrades in the intervening years.

"Oh my," said Bridget. "A spa tub. With _jets_."

Mark chuckled. "And a giant flat screen television," he said, "which I can't see myself wanting to use for a single second."

"Oh, I don't know," said Bridget. "We could find an episode of _Blind Date_ to watch together in front of the fire, for old times' sake." 

"It is a post-modern masterpiece, after all," he said, pulling her into his arms. "To twenty more years together, at least," he said, "God willing."

She couldn't find the words for the emotion that closed her throat suddenly. Her only reply was to rise up on her toes and kiss him firmly on the mouth. 

After a few moments, though, she drew away, and said shakily, brushing her fingers over his brow, then cheek, "I wish I could say the fluttering in my stomach and the lightheaded-ness were from being overwhelmed by passion… but alas, it's because lunch was a very long time ago."

At this he began to chuckle, pecked a kiss on her lips, then said, "Let's get some dinner, then."

They perused the menu then called down for dinner—hearty steak then champagne and strawberries for later—before Mark started unpacking their bags into the bureau's drawers. She simply smiled; she knew better than to ask him why he was unpacking for only a weekend. He turned and gave her a long, amused look. "I can leave yours in the bag, if you like."

"No, no; carry on."

She watched as he finished up, then dug his hand into the bag one last time. "Oh," he said. "What could this be?" 

With some amusement, she thought, and not for the first time, that he would have made a terrible actor. She said nothing, just waited for him to draw whatever he had up and out. It turned out to be a gold box with a bow on top.

"Ooh," she said. "Chocolates?"

He raised a brow. "Yes, Bridget," he said, clearly humouring her. " _Chocolates_." He handed it to her.

She pulled the top off and gasped to find a beautiful bracelet, three delicate chains—white gold, antiqued yellow gold, and a coppery rose gold, according to the card in the box—that were all braided together. From this entwined strand, four delicate charms dangled.

"It might seem a bit premature," Mark murmured, "but we thought it was fitting."

"We?"

"I consulted with Scott," Mark said.

As she examined it, she realised exactly what the strands and the charms represented, and she covered her mouth with a hand as the tears rolled down her cheeks: the chains represented the adults and the charms represented the children, each one their birth month's stone. "It's beautiful," she said breathily. "Is this from him, too? You should have given this to me together—"

"He insisted I should give it to you this weekend," Mark interrupted. "As a new start… again." He cleared his throat. "When I returned, my main goal was helping Mabel… but I had faint hopes a miracle might occur."

"Oh, we had at least two miracles," said Bridget. "Your return; Mabel…"

"Three," he said. "Because you and I are different people than we were, and circumstances have changed in a way I couldn't have predicted; yet here we are, making things work. It would surprise fifty-year-old me to say this, but I couldn't be happier."

She felt her eyes well with tears all over again.

"It really doesn't hurt," he said, "that Scott's a good bloke. But, you know, I've known that all along, anyway."

She sniffed, then smiled. "Put it on," she said, holding her hand out. "The bracelet. Put it on me."

He did as asked, and it was so light and beautiful she barely noticed it there. She took him into her arms and hugged him tight, but the sharp rap at the door brought them back to the present. "Dinner," he murmured.

After they brought it in and sat down at the window-side table to eat, Mark poured the wine and spoke again. "So with all of this excitement," he asked, "I never got to ask about what that was all about. Interrogation by our eight-year-old daughter. And…."

He trailed off, but she knew what he was thinking. "She must have heard about it from the television, or a pop song or something," Bridget said. "Not the most elegant way to have learnt it." Then she explained about her earlier question, about whether Mark was her 'boyfriend' too.

"I guess it's too late for the slightly more elegant 'birds and bees' story," he said, looking a little ashen.

"Never too late for that talk, as awkward as it might be," Bridget said. "But she probably just knows the word, not what it is. Kids are learning earlier these days but I think even eight's a bit much." She reached over the table and patted his hand. "I'll talk to her and see how much she really knows."

"She's your daughter," said Mark drolly. "It's probably not too soon for the talk; after all, you were stripping for me at the age of three." He raised his eyes to meet hers, a crooked grin on his face. "I'll leave it to you, then."

"All right," she said. "Then Billy's all yours. And don't forget to update the story."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that sometimes two bees prefer the same flower."

At this, Mark fixed her with a stern look, but could not keep a smile from his lips. "Your milkshake apparently brings all the boys to the yard," he quipped, which shocked her. "What can I say?" he added. "That song was everywhere for a time."

She had a hard time stopping laughing.

Within short order dinner was duly dispatched, and Mark popped open the champagne. "Why don't you…" he began, then smiled, then began to chuckle. "Saying 'slip into something more comfortable' sounds so cliché, doesn't it?"

"Maybe a bit," she said, "though it is a delightful suggestion."

She had purchased, with Talitha's input, a brand new lingerie set—nightie, pants and a dressing gown—just for this weekend, dark peacock blue silk with delicate black lace trim. Another set in ruby red and cream awaited Scott at home. She brushed her hair out, daubed some powder onto her nose and cheeks, and applied some gloss to her lips. Perhaps a little silly or vain to do so, she thought, but she wanted to look her nicest and feel her best.

She emerged to find Mark had the champagne waiting, and had also slipped into something more comfortable: his silk dressing gown, which he had loosely knotted at the waist. He glanced up to her and down again, and then, once his brain actually registered what it was she wore, he looked up once more. "Oh, that's lovely," he said quietly, then added, "I mean—not that you don't normally…"

She chuckled. "I knew what you meant."

"And you're comfortable?" he said, handing her a champagne flute. "I mean, comfort is key here."

She tilted her head. "Eminently comfortable. Well-fed on an excellent meal, and about to knock back some champagne and strawberries." After a pause, she added, "And wearing pants so comfortable and soft it's like I'm wearing nothing at all."

After a moment of silence, he said, "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"

She laughed. "Are we going to do a toast, or what?" she said.

Mark looked thoughtful, then spoke decisively. "Here's to a future," he said, "with decidedly fewer traumatic events."

"Hear, hear," said Bridget as she raised to touch her flute to his. In her thoughts only, she added, _And here's to no need of the little blue pill any time soon_.

They then raised the flutes in unison to sip; it was an exceptional vintage, perfectly chilled and not too dry, and was so good that the sip became an extended draw, and they each drained their glass. Mark then reached aside and plucked a berry from the bowl then, holding it by the leafy stem, held it up for her to take a bite from it. It was not exactly strawberry season, but they were plump and red and quite juicy. She relished the taste, her eyes closing with the pleasure of it.

"I'm beginning to think," Mark said, his voice husky, "that we might not make it through our dessert."

She smirked, opening her eyes again, fixing him with her gaze. "They'll keep."

Indeed, they did keep quite well, though they had the presence of mind to bring the champagne and berry bowl along with them to the main room, where the fireplace was roaring with amber flame. _The better to keep warm_ , she thought, as Mark divested her of the silk, and she helped him out of his own dressing gown. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply as they sank to the sofa; with that, she was lost in sensation, in the feel of his hands on her body, his kiss on her lips and throat. Before long she had her legs around his hips, her nails raking across his shoulders, as they worked towards mutual culmination.

Afterwards, gasping to regain their respective breath, Mark stretched to pour more champagne, and to offer her another berry. She only placed it tantalisingly between her teeth, offering it back to him in return.

"Tempting," he said. "So very, very tempting."

He was, of course, unable to resist temptation.

### Fri, 29 Jan

As morning broke, Bridget found herself shielding the sun from her eyes, and she rolled over closer to Mark again. Instinctively he brought his arm up and around her, and drew her up against him. She sighed and put one arm around his waist, tucking the other up to rest her cheek upon.

He made a soft sound, then spoke. "We should have drawn the drapes."

"The foolish things we do in the throes of passion," she said. "Shall I?"

Gallantly, he said, "I'll do it." Yet he made no move.

"No hurry," she said sarcastically. "I have no need to sleep. None at all."

"Oh. Well. If you say so."

After another extended romp they drifted back to sleep; soon, it was approaching lunchtime. The sky had clouded over, but it was not the sun that awoke them this time.

"I could murder a basket of chocolate croissants," she murmured before she even opened her eyes.

"And coffee," she heard Mark add, before he sighed. "It's too bad one cannot order room service by thought alone." And then he pushed back the duvet as he disentangled himself from her to reach for the phone to ring for food. She listened to him speak; he was ordering a veritable feast, not just pastry and a carafe of coffee, but orange juice, eggs, bacon… practically a full English fry-up.

She supposed it wasn't _quite_ lunch yet.

To their credit—and as proof of their exertion—they polished off everything they'd ordered before falling back into bed again. Not to shag, but to cuddle, to doze, to lounge in one another's arms, next to one another. And then Bridget remembered—

"The bath!"

"What?" he asked fuzzily.

"The spa bath!" she said, sitting up. "Let's run the spa bath!"

"That's got to be good for aching muscles," he said, amusement thick in his voice. Again he pushed back the duvet, pushed to the edge of the bed and made his way to the en suite; she enjoyed watching his journey, as always, even approaching the age of sixty. _Suppose I'm just grateful_ , she thought, _that his backside isn't drooping to his knees… or that my chest isn't to mine, either._

She heard the water come on, so reluctantly she rose from the bed; after all, the bath would not come to her. She watched him studiously pour a few capfuls of the bubble bath—scented lightly with vanilla, she noted immediately—before he climbed in, then turned to look at her. He offered a smile. "Water's nice and hot," he said. "Come and join me."

A broad smile overtook her face. She didn't need to be beckoned twice.

She slipped in beside him, then immediately turned to slip her arms around his neck, basking in the hot water, reclining with him, skin against skin. She let out a long sigh; he brought his arm up to slide his fingertips in an arc across her back. 

"A year ago," he said, "this would have only been an impossible fantasy."

She did not need to ask him what he meant.

He continued. "When I learnt that the faction behind the attack had been neutralised, and that I was safe to shed the false identity and return to life in England, it was the best possible news I could have gotten… and the worst."

She sensed that he had more to say, so she was content to remain silent; she was correct.

"I'm sure Jeremy thought he was doing me a favour," Mark said, closing his eyes, "keeping me updated on you, telling me how happy you were now, how much Scott loved the children as if they were his own… but you know Jeremy can be insensitive at times. I'll never forget that day he told me you were moving into a new house with Scott—it was precisely a day after I learnt I was safe to go home to England again."

"Oh, _Mark_ ," she said. "That was almost a year and a half ago."

"I know," he said quietly. "I could come back at any time, but you were happy, secure, and settled, all of you… and I should confess that I wasted no time finding out as much as I could about him. Scott. And I don't mean with Google." Before she could ask, he went on: "I am not proud of the fact that I called in favours from the intelligence community, Bridget, but I had to know. Dating's one thing, but a house… that's a commitment." He turned his warm brown eyes to her, and she nodded slightly; she understood. "Squeaky clean, upstanding citizen from a prominent, well-known, wealthy family, served Queen and Country in Afghanistan… it was a relief to know you were in good hands, but it was a double-edged sword. If he'd been a rotter I wouldn't have hesitated a moment to return, but since he wasn't, I couldn't help feeling that my coming back could do more harm than good. It tore at me until…." He trailed off, then when he spoke again, his voice was a bit stronger. "In a way, I'm almost glad my hand was forced. Not, of course, that I would have wished Mabel's ordeal on her or on any of us."

Bridget didn't know quite what to say, but decided that there was no point in reproaching him at this stage. She decided that a light tease was the way to go—easier to do now that things were settled. "If we weren't canoodling in a spa tub," she said, "I would tweak your bottom for ever considering not coming back."

"You may still do so," said Mark; his expression was stern, and his tone, serious. "If you dare."

She returned that serious look, then pulled herself close to him again. "Oh," she said. "I dare." Her hand moved down over his hip, but he shifted and quickly grabbed her wrist, keeping it away from him. With a cry of "Ha!", she reached with her free hand to try to get the other side, but he evaded her by shifting quickly away, splashing a crest of water over the edge of the tub as he did. Fortunately, she prevented him from grasping that wrist, too.

"You win," she said. "I think I'll tweak this, instead. It's a lot more fun." He seemed too confused to react to her hand slipping down his chest, past his navel, as she kissed him.

When he broke away, he said, "It is… acceptable."

Given his exhale of breath, it was more than that.

After they finished their bath, they decided it would be good to get out of the room for a while—"If for no other reason, to give housekeeping a chance to sweep out the place," said Mark—so they went to the restaurant to see about a late lunch. The restaurant staff were, of course, very accommodating. As they waited for their meal—just something light, given the large breakfast they'd had not that long ago—Bridget checked the messages on her phone, and found that the house hadn't in fact burnt down. 

"Just a hello from home," she said. "Everything's going well." She giggled as she viewed the picture that had arrived via the messaging app. "Mabel's discovered the concept of the 'selfie'."

She turned the phone around to show Mark the extreme close-up of Mabel's smiling face. She watched carefully how Mark's face softened, how his eyes crinkled at the corner as he smiled, as his gaze flicked over her image as if attempting to memorise every detail.

"I'll forward a copy to you," she said, switching off the phone's screen, then setting the mobile down.

"Please," he said. "She is one in a million, that child."

"Indeed she is," said Bridget, as she reached to take his hand across the table.


	2. A Call for Celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After reviewing portions of this chapter, I bumped it up to a "Mature" rating. Sorry if this causes anyone any issues.
> 
> I know this story plot isn't for everyone, but for those who are along for the ride, thanks v. much.

### Sun, 31 Jan

The rest of the weekend passed much in the same fashion, though to be truthful they spent more time snuggling by the fire than in the way Mabel had innocently suggested over the car ride. _Though_ , she thought, _it was a close call_. They had indeed had a lot of time to make up.

Arriving back home was joyous. Scott had already retrieved Mabel from Rebecca's so when they came in the front door, Mabel ran to greet them right there in the foyer. "Welcome home!" she cried as Mark whipped her up into his arms and spun her around, as she giggled with delight.

"Hello, darling," he said to her, pressing a kiss against her cheek. "How was your weekend?"

"It was great," she said, pulling back to look at her dad, who still held her in his arms. Bridget couldn't help thinking how big she was getting, how long her legs looked. _Not a baby anymore_ , she thought.

Mabel continued, "We played with stuff and played dress-up in Rebecca's closet. She's got some crazy stuff in there!"

"I bet that she does," Mark said, as he set her down. She then turned to give her mother a big hug and kiss.

"Did you have a nice time, Mummy?" Mabel asked.

"We had a _wonderful_ time," Bridget said. "It's beautiful out there. It even warmed up enough to take a short walk around the grounds."

"I'm glad," she said. "Maybe we can all go sometime."

"Maybe," said Bridget, shooting a look towards Mark.

"Hi, Mum; hi, Dad," called a voice from the media room. Billy.

"Hello, Billy," Mark called back.

"Welcome back," called another voice. Scott. What were they all doing in there?

She wandered into the media room, where they were all sitting watching a film, nursing mugs of cocoa and bundled under blankets. Scott turned to look up at her and smiled; she smiled, too. She went over sit on the arm of the sofa, to lean over to give him a little kiss.

"Welcome home," he said.

"Good to be home," she said, running a hand over his hair. "So where exactly have you all been?"

"Fishing!" said Billy.

"What?!" she exclaimed. "Fishing in January?"

"We did dress for the weather," said Matt.

She looked to Mark, who could barely contain his laughter. "Did you know about this?"

"Not at all," he said.

"Where's Fred?" she asked, her eyes scanning the group of them.

"Oh, we lost him through a hole in the ice," said Matt, totally deadpan.

"What?!" she shrieked again.

"Don't tease her like that," said Scott, patting her knee. "He's in the loo. And it was _not_ ice fishing."

"We had a really good time," said Billy. "Finn and I actually caught a tiny fish but we threw it back."

"Finn?"

"We brought Jake and Finn along. A real boys' weekend."

"I'm glad I didn't know this," said Bridget. "I would have worried."

"This is why we kept it a secret," said Scott.

Fred came back into the room. "Oh, hello," he said, smiling brightly. "Welcome home." He went over to where Bridget sat to give her a hug.

"So good to see your face," she said, pecking a kiss on his cheek.

"Bridget," said Scott, setting his mug down. "May I speak to you in private?"

He sounded so suddenly serious that she sat back, then stood; she wondered about what he might have wanted to speak to her. "Of course."

They left the room; she followed him down into the kitchen. Maybe this was about dinner that evening, she considered. But why flip the lock?

Then he turned, grasped her face with his hands, and kissed her passionately. She understood his desire for privacy; they might have had a mutual agreement but she had the sense to keep intimate displays of affection to a closed room. She returned that kiss; he pulled her against him, breaking away to murmur, " _Jesus_ , I've missed you," before assaulting her throat with open-mouthed kisses.

"Oh," she breathed; his hands came around to grasp and squeeze her backside. He certainly had missed her, plainly evident in the hardness building against her thigh. She sighed. Here, in the kitchen, surely he didn't mean to—

The way that he pushed down the waist of her yoga bottoms told her that he did, in fact, mean to. As they went down over her hips, she moaned quietly: " _Mr Wallaker_."

He stepped back long enough to lower his own trousers, then pressed her up against the breakfast nook—she tried not to think about it too much—and with a long groan made the connection he had craved. He took hold of her around the shoulders and held her close as he thrust again and again. He found release in very short order, but did not stop until she had, too.

"Jesus," he said again, holding her close to him when they had calmed enough to form words. Then he kissed her again.

"I missed you too," she whispered. 

"I would apologise for pouncing upon you like this," he said, "but I'm not really all that sorry."

She giggled. "We should get back," she said, "or it's going to be obvious we've snuck off to have a quickie."

"Obvious to whom? Mark?"

"You have a teenaged son, sweetheart, one teeming with hormones, and who has a huge crush on someone called Amber."

Scott's face went pale. "Matt would never think that." 

She patted his face as she gently pushed him back. "You're adorable."

They took a moment to tidy their clothes up after the hasty passion. "I see you're wearing the bracelet," he said.

"I love it," she said. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." He smoothed down her shirt. "You're looking quite presentable."

"What did we talk about?"

"Pardon?"

"Well… ostensibly you brought me in here to speak to me in private. So what did we talk about?"

"Supper," he said decidedly. "We're ordering Chinese."

She laughed. "Clearly that required privacy."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "We had to decide on the type of food away from the children."

"And Mark?"

He pursed his lips. "Would you have wanted him here for that?"

She laughed. "I suppose he wouldn't have appreciated that as much I did," she said, winking. "Come on. You can call in the dinner order."

Bridget left for the loo to use the facilities then examine her reflection in the window—rosy cheeks and pinked lips weren't overtly obvious but she suspected Mark would tease her later—then returned to the sitting room. Mark had taken a seat on the sofa, and he glanced up as she came in. His smirk spoke volumes. "All settled?" he asked.

"Yep," she said. "Chinese takeaway for dinner."

The children cheered, but Mark only remarked, "Big decisions like that must be made behind closed doors."

"Obviously." She sat beside him. He put he put his arm around her shoulder, and she put her hand on his knee.

"About forty-five minutes," said Scott, returning to the room, taking his seat on Bridget's other side, clasping her hand with his.

"Perfect," she said. Quite a perfect evening ahead.

As they partook of the catering-sized order Scott said, "Oh, by the way, Rebecca said she'd ring you up tomorrow."

"Okay," Bridget said; if she had to guess, she was going to get grilled about the 'shagathon weekend' with far more seriousness than Mabel had. 

However, she felt Mark shudder a little as Scott had informed her of Rebecca's impending call, and she turned her gaze to him. She queried with her eyes as to what that reaction could have meant.

He seemed to know immediately why she was looking at him in that way. "I can't help myself. I'm not used to 'Rebecca' being… a kind, nice, lovely—if eccentric—woman."

At Scott's confused expression, Bridget explained: "I had a friend once called Rebecca who was always a bit too fond of social climbing… who then revealed herself to be something much, much worse when she contrived to split us up to have Mark for herself."

Scott's brows rose.

"It nearly worked," Mark said. "But then the Bullet Man brought us back together." He then smiled to her.

"This sounds like quite a tale," said Scott.

"Bullet Man?!" asked Billy excitedly, eyes wide as saucers.

"Bullet Man?" asked Mabel, too, looking a bit horrified.

"It turned out to be nothing serious at all, sweetheart," said Bridget. "It's a tale for another day." She did not want to explain in front of the children that it was by comforting a naked Mark, terrified by her unexpected appearance, that their reconciliation had come to be.

"Whatever happened to your ex-friend Rebecca—or as I like to think of her, the Evil Rebecca?" Mark wondered; the kids all smirked. "I kept meaning to ask."

"Ah. I heard through the grapevine that she's just been through her third divorce," she said. "And I hear that this time it is she who must pay support. Her family's fortunes have suffered to the point where she had to sell that hideous cottage-mansion in Gloucestershire and is now living in something much less than the townhouse that she used to have. On top of that, she has had so much work done that she looks as if she's…" Here Bridget hesitated; out of respect for Matt and Fred's mother, she didn't want to finish.

However, Scott had no such qualms: "Made of plastic?"

Bridget nodded. "Karma's a… well, you know," she said. "Yet, even though she's brought it all on herself… I can't help feeling sorry for her."

"Of course you do," said Mark, chopsticks laden with noodles midway to his mouth. "Despite all of the terrible things she'd done to you—to _us_ —you are the one with empathy. You always have been, darling."

"I don't know this Rebecca," Scott said, "but I would agree with that assessment based solely on your friendship with Nicolette—which I still fail to fully understand." That last part he murmured under his breath.

"Nicolette?" asked Mark.

"You met her at Mabel's party. She's the mum of Billy's schoolmates." 

"Oh, _her_? But she seemed so nice," said Mark. "Nothing like Rebecca."

She mused that he used to think the same about Rebecca, too, but she let it pass. "We were… not always friendly. I didn't appreciate her parenting style, nor did she like mine. But she's come around to my way of thinking."

After dinner was finished, the older boys put the leftovers into the fridge, then loaded the dishwasher. "Time to wash up," said Scott. "School tomorrow." The boys groaned. "Just a couple more weeks until your break."

"I can't _wait_ to go back to school," said Mabel. "I miss my friends."

It was understood that Bridget would be staying with Scott that night, and after saying goodnight to the children and to Mark—the new mattress in the bedroom made her visitations much more comfortable—she prepared for bed.

"I almost slipped and called her 'Nicorette' in front of Billy, there." It was Scott, come in from saying his goodnights to the children. She chuckled.

"Everyone all settled in?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Mabel wanted her daddy to read her bedtime story." From behind her, he took her into his arms, nuzzling into her neck. "I could brook no opposition."

"You have to work tomorrow, too, Mr Wallaker," she said.

"Worth it," he said, sliding his hands down over her hips and thighs.

"Incorrigible," she said, but found that she, too, could brook no opposition.

"I told you," he murmured, sliding her bottoms down again. "I missed you."

After proving yet again that he had missed her, she relished in his spooning up to her. He kissed her shoulder; she sighed. Life was indeed too short.

"Maybe not the best time to mention this," he said, filling her with foreboding, "but I had the chat with Billy, Matt, and Fred."

"Chat?" she asked, still a bit muddy-headed from sex.

"About the living arrangements," he said. "Matt seemed unsurprised. Fred sort of shrugged and said he didn't care as long as no one got their feelings hurt. I told him he didn't need to worry. Billy, to be honest, looked hugely relieved. He said he was wondering if it was okay with me that you were hugging and kissing Mark, and sometimes staying in the room with him. He didn't want to see me punch out his dad."

She chuckled, though felt terrible that Billy had ever had a moment's worry about it. 

"I also told them that it wasn't anything we were ashamed of," he said, "but it was something we wanted to keep to ourselves. They seemed to understand."

"Wait. What about Jake and Finn? Were they there?"

"No, they were off to find a good place for a wee," he said. "It was a _fast_ chat."

She laughed lightly to herself, then tightened her arms over his. Within a few minutes, she was drifting off to sleep, and had nothing but happy dreams.

### Fri, 17 Jun

It had been some time since Bridget had been so nervous, so antsy; probably, she wagered, the last time she waited to hear from a doctor's office about Mabel's health. They'd promised to let them know the test results, and she thought she might just burst if she didn't hear before the weekend. The nervousness was making it impossible to work on the finishing touches on her manuscript, which she was supposed to be delivering on Monday.

"Oh, just _fucking_ ring already," she yelled at her mobile.

As if a miracle, it did just that. It was the call she'd been expecting. And by the end of the call, she was in tears, with no one in the house but Mabel.

All was well, though. It was happy news.

"Mabel!" she said, racing to find Mabel hard at work on her maths, for which she had begun to show a surprising affinity. Mabel looked up, startled at the sudden appearance, and at the tears under her eyes.

"Mummy!" she said. "What is it?"

"That was the doctor," she said, smiling broadly. "You're well enough to go back to school for the autumn term!"

Mabel's mouth dropped open, and then she grinned. "Really?"

Bridget nodded. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Mabel threw aside her papers, got to her feet, and hugged her mother with a fierceness that surprised her. She heard Mabel begin to cry. "Oh, Mummy," she said. "I'm _so_ happy."

"Wait until your dads hear," she said, cradling Mabel's head, combing through her soft hair, now bob-length. "And your brothers."

"Can I call them?" she asked.

"I think Daddy's in court," she said. "But Dah will be home soon. Do you think you can wait that long?"

She nodded.

"Do you think you can finish your maths before he's back?"

At this, she shook her head.

"You're right," Bridget conceded. "This calls for a celebration."

They went to the kitchen, where Bridget unearthed a pint of chocolate ice cream from the freezer, and two spoons. _No need to bother with bowls_ , she thought. 

Indeed, most of the pint was already gone when Scott came home shortly thereafter. He called for Bridget, likely when he could not find her in the usual places. She called back to let him know where they were.

"What's going on here?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "Ice cream for lunch?"

"I'm gonna be able to go back to school next term!" Mabel said; she popped up from the table, where he was waiting to take her up into his arms for a long, tight hug.

"Oh, princess, this makes me happier than you can possibly imagine," he said, emotion thickening his voice. 

Bridget came up to them to put her arm around them, to join in the hug. "Her numbers are amazingly good," she said. "Her immune system is nearly back to normal. They're not _quite_ ready to say 'remission' yet, but things look great."

"Amazing," he said, too, turning his head to kiss Bridget. She placed her hand on the back of his head, meeting his shining blue eyes. "Absolutely amazing."

"I know," she mouthed, unable to get the words out. Then she began to cry again.

"Mummy! Dah! The ice cream's melting!"

They laughed as Scott set her down; Mabel ran back to the table and dug her spoon in. "Yes," said Bridget. "She's my girl, all right."

Bridget pulled her mobile from her pocket and shot Mark a quick text. 

_Come home as soon as done with court._

After a moment, she added, so as not to panic him:

_Is good news. Don't worry! x_

After a moment, he responded:

_Too bloody late. Gave me heart attack. See you soon. x_

She tucked her phone back into her pocket. "I just let Daddy know to come home as soon as he could after work," she said.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" she asked. "I want to tell him."

"I didn't tell him, sweetie."

The boys were all home well before Mark was, so they got to hear Mabel's news next. Billy looked like the proudest brother ever, cheering and punching the air before giving his sister a hug. "I'm so glad," he said. She noticed that he was crying happy tears, but did not bring it to anyone's attention for fear of embarrassing him.

"Aw, Mabes, I'm so happy," said Matt, petting her head, then picking her up much like his father had done; he was, in fact, equal in height to his father now, though not quite as broad in the shoulder.

"Me too," said Fred, hugging Mabel, who was still being held by Matt.

Mabel could not focus on anything but seeing her dad until he came home. When she heard his car return, Mabel was positively beside herself. When he came in, he sought out Bridget immediately. 

"So what's the good news?" he said.

"You'd better ask your daughter," said Bridget. She suspected that he already knew what it was, and with a slight nod to him, she confirmed it.

Mark then looked to Mabel. "Mabel? What is it? Did you… get your driving licence? Get nominated for an Academy Award?"

She shook her head as she giggled. " _No_ , Daddy," she said. "I can go back to school in the autumn!"

"Well, darling, that is the greatest thing I have heard in many months," he said, then crouched to her level in order to give her a hug. "I am so very pleased."

"Thanks to you," she said. "You gave me the special cells and they worked."

Mark closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, and Bridget could see tears escape his eyes. "I would do anything for you," he said quietly, kissing her on the cheek. "Anything."

Mabel turned and kissed him on the cheek. Then, after a moment, she said, "Would you finish my maths homework for me?"

He fought laughter, but it was a losing battle. "I thought you liked maths."

"I do," she said, "but I'm too excited to finish."

"I think you've got some time until Monday," he said, setting her to her feet. "Tonight, I think, we have some celebrating to do." 

Scott added, looking directly at Bridget, "Though not too much celebrating this weekend. You've both got homework to do."

She pouted and said, "But Scott…!"

Unfortunately, she did so at the same time Mabel pouted and said, "But Dah…!"

"And you better finish with time to spare," he said, "if you want me to check for mistakes." Then he added, "Spelling and punctuation."

As Mark obviously realised he was referring to Bridget's script, he began to laugh.

"Can we have cake with dinner?" Mabel asked brightly.

"What kind of cake would you like?" Bridget asked.

Mabel levelled a serious look at her. "Chocolate, of course."

"Like I even needed to ask," she said, laughing.

"She is _definitely_ your daughter," quipped Mark.

### Fri, 22 Jul

With plans drawn up to add onto the house to accommodate Mark, the work was slated to begin just before the end of the term. They would all, therefore, be spending the summer break elsewhere, at Capthorpe House. Billy was beyond excited and spoke of nothing else. He seemed particularly interested in talking to Mark about it.

"It's like a _palace_ , Dad!" he said. "The garden is so huge!"

"I've read all about it," said Mark; Bridget had no doubt that whatever his intelligence contacts had dug up, Capthorpe House had to have been amongst that information. "I can't wait to see it."

"It'll be like having a holiday without the hassle of going abroad," said Bridget. "Best of both worlds."

After the summer term was over, with suitcases packed, they made the one hour drive to Capthorpe House. There was also the additional benefit of being close enough to London to return to oversee some aspect of the remodel, if necessary. Mabel seemed especially excited; since she had fallen ill the previous year, they hadn't done much travel, hadn't even gone as far as Capthorpe House. "I can't wait to run around the garden, and go to the lake!" she said.

"You might be feeling better, and doing better, but you still can't overtax yourself," Bridget cautioned.

"I know," she said, a slight petulance about her voice, which made Bridget think she did, indeed, feel better.

"I can show you how to fish!" said Billy brightly.

"No fishing without adult supervision," said Scott, who drove the minivan. Mark would join them after work.

"I'm an adult," piped up Matt.

"You've only been sixteen for less than a fortnight," said Scott.

"It still counts," said Matt.

Bridget thought it might be a good idea to change the subject, but immediately regretted her question: "Is Amber still going to be able to come down and visit on the weekend after this?"

Matt turned bright pink, though smiled. "She says she can, yes."

"We'll see," said Scott.

"Don't be such a grouch, Scott," said Bridget, patting his arm as he drove. "She's a lovely girl; her parents approve. It's very clear to me that she—"

"I'd prefer not to talk about this at the moment," Scott said curtly.

She knew why. After meeting with Amber's parents over coffee, they had all—Bridget, Scott, and Mark—talked last night about Matt, his new girlfriend Amber, Amber's visit to Capthorpe House, and the spectre of teenage sex. Bridget thought she had rather come out on top, much to their annoyance. 

"He's a responsible boy," Scott had said, "but I remember what it as like to be that age."

"So we have to be especially proactive. If they're going to do it, he needs to be prepared."

"They shouldn't be doing anything," Mark had said.

"Be realistic, will you?" Bridget had said. "Where there's a will, there's a way."

"You don't know how boys that age think," Scott had said.

"That's laughable. I know _exactly_ how boys that age think. I had the privilege of fending them off of me back in the day." She'd pointed to each of them in turn. "I think the both of you, with your boys-only education and no sisters amongst you, don't fully understand how _girls_ that age think. They enjoy it too, have agency over their own bodies, and want to be safe and responsible and _not mothers at sixteen_."

That had left both of them speechless.

Billy's voice brought her back to the present from her thoughts:

"Mum?"

"Sorry," she said. "What is it, darling?"

"Will you please hand me my knapsack?"

"Oh, yes, sure," she said, doing as he requested. To Scott, she said, "We'll talk later."

"Pardon?"

"What you don't want to talk about now," she said.

"Oh," he said. "Sorry, didn't follow—that was ten minutes ago."

She heard the kids snickering.

The trip was otherwise uneventful, though she felt a bit cranky and wished she'd had the foresight to stop for a coffee before their departure. As soon as she stepped out of the minivan, though, her entire demeanour changed. The grounds were bathed in sunlight, the verdant greens and the yellows and reds of the flowers in perfect contrast with the cloudless cerulean sky. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. She felt Scott's arm slip around her waist, felt him kiss her temple.

"Sorry about that," he said quietly. "Snapping at you."

"It's all right," she said, bringing up her arm to embrace him in return. "It wasn't the greatest time to bring it up."

"I know that you're right," he said. "It's just difficult thinking of one's child in such a… grownup way."

She nodded. She wondered how she would feel when Billy hit puberty. When Mabel did… 

"But yes," Scott went on. "We have to be realistic. Hiding one's head in the sand is worse than counterproductive. It can be downright destructive."

"I'm glad we are of like minds on this," she murmured, releasing him from her embrace. "Let's get the bags inside and get settled, and then we can put together some lunch for the children."

"Excellent plan," Scott said.

"And then, once Mark's here, we can speak with Matt about sexual positions… _kidding_."

"You're trying to give me a heart attack, too," he said.

After a quick pasta lunch, Bridget took a glass of wine with her to recline upon a chaise on a patio overlooking the back garden; Scott offered to take the children for a walk around the lake. "Maybe all of that fresh air will get them into bed extra early," he'd said.

"We can but hope," she'd replied.

The breeze ruffling her hair and the wine conspired her to drift off to sleep; she was awakened by the sound of shoes on the paving stones of the patio. She turned and looked to see Mark had arrived, and he smiled at her. She pushed herself to sit up properly, yawning broadly. "Found your way, I see."

"Indeed," he said; he looked weary, but his expression spoke of how pleased he was to see her. He sat beside her on the chaise, put his arm around her shoulders, and then kissed her. "Sight for sore eyes, you are."

"Only saw me this morning," she murmured, leaning against him.

"I know," he said.

"Are you hungry? We made a ton of pasta earlier."

"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "Though I suppose I ought to bring up my things, and get out of this suit."

"Want some help?"

He let out a little laugh. "Help getting out of my suit? Yes, I'd like that very much indeed."

She playfully slapped down on his knee. "Let me show you to your room, at least."

"My room?" he said as they rose.

"It'll be mine some nights, too," she said, slipping her arm through his at the elbow. "Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," he said.

Since he had never been to the house before, she let go of his arm and led him upstairs to the room he'd be using. He had surprisingly little baggage with him, but he probably would spend more time in town than the rest of them, more like a weekend bag than for the whole of the summer holidays. He set the bag down on the bed and immediately unzipped it and began to unpack, but then hesitated.

"Bridget," he said, "would you come here, please?"

"What? What is it?" she asked, slightly alarmed, as she came up beside him.

"You," he said, "are so gullible at times." Then he put his arm around her shoulders, then pulled her into a kiss.

It was surprising, but not unwelcome. She got up on her toes and put her arms around his neck to better return the kiss.

"I think I'd like to have a little lie down," he murmured, running his hands over her back before settling on her backside. "Care to join me?"

She opened her mouth to say she'd like nothing better, but instead of her own voice, Mabel's cried out, coming up the stairs, "Mummeee! Where are you?"

She dropped down onto her feet again, as Mark sighed. "Back to unpacking my bag, I guess."

"If you want to have your pre-prandial lie down," she whispered, "I'll see about joining you, all right?"

He offered a warm smile. "Looking forward."

"Oh, there you are," said Mabel. "Oh! Hi, Daddy… how was work?"

"Tiring," he said. "Have you had a good afternoon here?"

She nodded. "I love it here," she said. It showed; she looked a bit drowsy.

"I've never been, but you can show me around later," he said. "Going to rest a bit before dinner."

Mabel then yawned very broadly. "Daddy, can I rest with you?"

Mark shot Bridget a quick look. "Of course you can, darling. I'm just going to unpack my bag first."

"Can I help?"

"Absolutely," he said, then handed her his shaving kit. "Will you put this in the loo?"

She smiled, took it, then went back into the hall heading for the guest loo.

"Well," she said. "Slight change of plans."

"Slight," he said. "Come and have a lie down with us. Mummy-Daddy-daughter snuggle."

She grinned. "All right."

She went to find where the others had come in, smiled brightly at the dirt-smudged face of Billy, of the two older boys she considered her own, and the loving gaze of Scott. "So I take it you had a nice tromp?" she asked.

"It was great! We saw so many birds and bugs and we even caught fish in the lake!" Billy said in a great rush, which made her chuckle. She saw his trainers and socks were soaking wet.

"I'm so glad," she said. "Shoes, socks, off. Now."

"Yes, Mum," he said. 

"I see Mark's car's arrived," said Scott.

"Yup," she said. "He's gone up to lie down. And actually, going to have a lie down myself with them. Mark and Mabel, I mean."

"Ah," he said. "We'll take care of dinner, won't we, boys?"

"I'm a little afraid," Bridget admitted with a wink.

By the time she got back upstairs, she found that Mark and Mabel had already climbed under the covers and were fast asleep. She looked upon the two of them with a great well of love and affection; Mabel rested on his chest, and Mark had his arm protectively around her. She almost didn't want to disturb them, how angelic they looked, but her own tiredness got the better of her. 

She climbed in, too, on the opposite side of Mark as Mabel, and reflexively his arm came up and around her. She shifted to rest on her side, bringing her arm over him, a hand on Mabel's shoulder. Within moments, she was also deep in slumber.

She awakened to find herself alone in the bed. It wasn't yet dark; a glance to the clock told her about an hour and a half had passed. She yawned and sat up, then pushed back the duvet. She hadn't quite realised she'd been quite so tired, but with preparations to come here for the summer break, it shouldn't have been a surprise.

After a quick check to ensure her hair wasn't standing on end, she went downstairs, greeted by the delectable scent of dinner; it made her realise how hungry she was. She went straight for the source of the scent, and found the group of them, save for Billy and Scott, already at the dining room table. 

"Hi, Mummy," said Mabel. 

"Hey," she said, running her hand over her daughter's hair. "Have a good nap?"

"Mm-hm," said Mabel. "How about you?"

"A bit longer than expected. Were you going to let me sleep through dinner?" she teased.

"Billy went to—" began Mark, but stopped short when Billy returned to the room. 

"Mum, there you are!" he said, worry on his face; he sounded more like Mark than ever before as he added, "Thought you'd wandered off or something."

"Sorry, sweetie," she said, putting an arm around his shoulders, pecking him on the head. "Didn't mean to worry you. We must have crossed paths."

From the opposite door, the one connecting to the kitchen, emerged Scott as well as Judith Shepard, who took care of Capthorpe House along with her husband, Albert; both were akin to surrogate parents to Scott, whose own parents were dead. Bridget had not yet seen either caretaker since their arrival, so she went around to give Judith her warm greetings. 

"Is this dinner _your_ doing, then?" she said, shooting Scott a glance. "It smells fantastic."

"Thought you'd like something nice," Judith said. "The fish are the ones the boys caught in the lake."

She looked to Billy, who was beaming brightly. "Well done, boys!" said Bridget with all due praise. To Judith, she said, "Stay for dinner, you and Albert?"

"Oh, I don't know if that's proper," she said, obviously hesitant.

"I hardly care if it's proper," said Bridget. "It'll give us a chance to chat."

Judith offered a smile. "Then I think that we'd be hard-pressed to refuse. That and there's enough to feed an army here. I'll go and fetch him."

Introductions between Judith, Albert, and Mark were made as soon as she returned with her husband Albert.

"This is Mark," Bridget said, "and he will be staying with us for the summer holiday, give or take a few excursions back to the city for work."

"Mark, lovely to meet you," said Judith with a smile. "And how are you associated with the family?"

"He's part of the family," Bridget answered for him. "He's my husband, and Billy and Mabel's father." At her surprised look, Bridget added, "Yes, it's a bit complicated—I'll explain later." She saw no need not to be straightforward with them; after all, over the summer, they were likely to see her stealing out of Mark's room, or the occasional display of affection that they were unlikely to censor while in their own home, even this one.

Dinner was a very fine baked carp with cream sauce and mushrooms over rice, during which they all chatted and got caught up with the latest local news. Bridget took the opportunity to fill Judith in with a little more detail about what had occurred regarding Mabel's health.

"She looks so healthy now," said Judith sympathetically, watching Mabel voraciously eat her dinner. "Hard to believe she'd ever been sick." Judith's gaze shifted to Mark, and she offered him a kind smile. "I suppose you're the one to thank?"

Mark nodded. "As Bridget said, it's a bit complicated. But the short version is that I was a donor match for her bone marrow transplant."

"Which was, as you see, a total success," added Scott. "I'll be forever grateful that she's still here with us because of him."

"I'm right here, you know," said Mabel in a patient voice, which made everyone quietly chuckle.

"You are your mother's daughter, all right," Mark said, winking to Mabel.

After dinner, the Shepards took them up on the offer for coffee and dessert, while Matt, without even being asked to do so, herded the other children off to the sitting room to watch a film. It gave them—Scott, in particular—the opportunity to bring Judith and Albert up to speed with the familial configuration changes that had occurred. They sat and listened to the whole story as told by Scott without comment. At the conclusion, Judith spoke.

"It's not for me," she said, "but it's also not for me to judge, particularly when everyone seems very happy, and that would be my biggest concern." Then she smiled to the man she thought of as a son.

"I'm glad to hear that," said Bridget. "I just didn't want you to, I don't know, see something that would make you think I was betraying Scott." She reached her hand out to pat Scott's. 

Albert nodded as if in agreement with his wife, then said, "As long as it keeps Bridget in the family, I'm on board."

This made them all chuckle.

"I'm looking forward to getting to know you better, Mark," said Judith. "From what I heard over dinner, it sounds like you've led a very interesting life."

Mark smiled. "Well, a more interesting-than-intended last seven or so years," he said. "And thank you. I look forward to getting to know you both better, too."

In what seemed like no time at all, two hours had passed, they were done with the coffee and cake, and Judith and Albert were saying their good nights then were off to their rooms. They then went upstairs, and helped get the younger children ready for bed. Matt was in his room, texting away on his phone with a pleased smile on his face, as he called goodnight.

"Don't stay up too late," Scott warned.

"I won't," said Matt, not looking up.

"Don't keep Amber up too late."

"I won't," he repeated.

Scott closed the door, then turned back to where Mark and Bridget stood. "Well. Best be off to bed," Scott said. "Want to be well rested for the hunt."

At this, Bridget bristled, and, she noticed, Mark perked up with evident interest.

"Hunt?" Mark asked.

"Scott, _no_ ," she said. "Not this again."

Scott sighed; she prepared to hear his speech. "I've told you every year," he explained patiently. "If I don't go, I offend the entire community. People I've known my entire life. They depend on me to show them support."

"But, Scott!" she said. "It's a fox hunt. _A fox hunt!_ It's so _cruel_!"

She swore Mark was trying to stifle a chuckle. 

"It's not funny," she said indignantly to him. "You know how I feel about it."

"I don't actually go out on the hunt," said Scott. "You know this, too." He turned to Mark. "She won't come, and it's such a good way to socialise."

"If I could come along," Mark said, "I'd love to meet the locals."

"Absolutely," Scott said. "I'd be happy to introduce you to the folks here."

" _Hey_." She pouted; she felt like they were ganging up on her.

" _You're_ off the hook, at least," Scott said, winking, then he leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss. "Going to wash up and turn in," he said quietly into her ear. "Don't stay up too late, yourself."

Initially she was grateful that he had made the choice for her, regarding with whom she'd stay the night, but the more she thought about it, the more indignant she felt. "Hey!" she said again.

"What is it?"

"You'd rather rest for the stupid hunt?"

"Well, it'll be a busy day," he said. "Up early and on the way." 

Mark nodded. "Yes, yes, very good point."

"Maybe I should sleep on the sofa," she said grumpily.

Scott laughed lightly, and gave her another little hug and peck on the cheek. "It hardly needs to come to that, with all the rooms here," he said, then added quickly at her murderous look, "Kidding. I leave you in good hands."

It was hard to stay even a little bit angry with him; she returned the hug, pressing her fingers into his shoulder blades. "Goodnight," she said softly, then kissed his cheek before he turned to head into the master bedroom.

She turned to look at Mark, who had the audacity to look back at her with complete innocence as he said, "Perhaps we, too, should wash up and tuck in for the night."

She glared at him in silence for many moments. At last she said, "Fine."

Neither said anything more as they washed up, cleaned their teeth, then retreated to the bedroom and closed the door behind them. Even as he undressed then slipped under the sheets, he was quiet until he reached over to switch off the bedside lamp.

"Goodnight," he said, then settled into the pillow.

_Bastard!_ she thought, then turned over to sleep.

And then she felt him press himself up against her, slipping his arm around her waist, then nuzzling into her neck. If he thought it was going to be that easy, he was mistaken.

"What are you doing?" she asked coolly.

"Making up for the missed lie-down earlier," he said, pausing his ministrations as he spoke.

"I thought you needed your rest."

Close to her ear, he murmured, "I think I need you more."

Fortunately, it was just as hard to stay angry at Mark, and he always seemed to know how to right his wrongs. She turned over, then covered his mouth with hers for the long, passionate kiss she'd craved since their afternoon rendezvous had been thwarted.

After all fur had been thoroughly smoothed, all hurts adequately soothed, Mark fell quickly into a deep sleep. Bridget, though, was kept up by her thoughts. Now that both men were going to the hunt/event, she sort of wanted to go, too—but her pride would never have allowed her to admit that to them. What bothered her even more was that she was absolutely certain the both of them (smirkingly) knew exactly what her thoughts were.

"Bloody hell," she whispered to herself. She was doomed… in the best possible way.


	3. Embarrassment of Riches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suffice it to say, any typos or goofs are totally my fault.

### Sat, 23 Jul

When Bridget awakened the next morning, it was to an empty bed beside her. She glanced to the clock—not even half-six—and rose to throw on a dressing gown. She then went down to the kitchen hoping to catch them before they left. _Surely they wouldn't have gone without saying goodbye_ , she thought.

She found the both of them in the kitchen, fully dressed for the day, with half-eaten plates of food. They looked up as she appeared. 

"Morning, sunshine," said Scott. "Hope we didn't wake you."

"No," she said, absently rubbing her eyes. "You going soon?"

"Yes," said Mark. "We were just discussing the day ahead."

"Oh," said Bridget. "Heading out soon, then?"

"Mm, yes," said Scott. "It'll take a little time to get there and they'll want me to say a little something while they release the fox and—"

"Shush," she said. "I don't want to hear about the poor little fox."

She heard Mark chuckle.

"You're sure you don't want to come?" Scott asked.

"No," she said curtly. She did, out of curiosity, but would never let on.

" _Sure_ sure?"

"Shush," she said again. "You were, I hope, planning to come see me before you left."

"Of course," they said together.

"And what are your plans for today?" asked Mark.

"Going back to bloody sleep, for one," she said. "Might take Mabel out for a walk, or something. Maybe I'll go read a book in a hidden corner. Haven't given it much thought, to be honest."

"Well, that's fine," said Scott, as they both continued eating their breakfast. "No need to have anything too structured. It is a holiday, after all."

"Exactly."

"Just stay out of trouble, hm?" said Mark. "Don't ignite the kitchen or anything."

"Or climb any trees unsupervised," added Scott.

She narrowed her eyes at each of them in turn. She was never going to live her foibles down. "I'll be fine," she said through clenched teeth.

"Good," said Scott brightly, who, after clearing his plate, stood and came near to her. Mark stood too. "We should be off."

"Bye," she said flatly.

Scott bent to give her a quick kiss, and she meant to spurn him and not to reciprocate, but couldn't resist. "See you tonight," he said.

"See you then," she said.

Then Mark came to her and bent to kiss her, too, and again she had no resistance. "Bye, darling."

"Bye."

With that, the two men went on their way; she walked with them as far as the door to the garage, then waved as they pulled away. The faint smile she had couldn't be helped. She loved them both as much as ever, and was extremely happy that they'd seemed to have grown to love each other like family, too.

_Though it might have been nice_ , she thought, _for one of them to be around to cuddle on a weekend morning_. But this thought only made her more determined than ever to have a grand day without either of them. Perhaps, she thought evilly, she could even get into a bit of trouble. 

When Matt announced he was going to take the kids to the town for a tour of the local shops, a plan began to form in her mind, one she was determined to see through. She made sure they were all well fed and watered, then saw them off… then went upstairs to change out of her clothes and into her swimsuit.

After a moment's thought and an evil grin, she decided against the swimsuit, and only put the beach wrap on, instead. Feeling like a naughty schoolgirl, she skipped along the vast stretch of garden directly to the edge of the lake. She dipped in a foot, found that the temperature was more than pleasant, then divested herself of the beach wrap and took a running leap in.

"Ahh," she said quietly as she floated contentedly on her back, staring up at the clear blue sky. She couldn't honestly remember the last time she'd been completely on her own. At first it felt freeing, but after far too short a time, she was overcome with an unexpected loneliness. She missed the children, and she missed Scott and Mark.

As the clouds started to blow across the sky in greater density, she rose from the water, slipped on the beach wrap, shook out her hair, then went back to the house. She felt simultaneously refreshed and fatigued, and when she got inside, she went directly to change into clean clothes, then sat in the library to read for a while—she hadn't read Woolf in years—when she heard the children returning.

She glanced to the clock and realised it was lunchtime just as her own stomach grumbled in protest. When she got to the kitchen, she was pleasantly surprised to find Judith had made a huge plate of sandwiches. Bridget asked the children what they had done that day, and Mabel proceeded to outline their entire morning.

Bridget listened attentively, and was so glad they'd had a great morning in the village, but what made her happiest was how lively and animated she was acting, compared to so many listless days in bed. "And Matt bought us all ice lollies!" she concluded.

"Yes, I can still see the blue on your tongue," Bridget said with a chuckle. To Matt she said, "Thank you for taking them out."

"We had a great time," he said, "and I was glad to do so. Since, you know, I'll have less time to spend with them once Amber gets here."

"No!" said Mabel with a pout. "Why's she coming here? This is our holiday."

"You'll like her," said Matt. "I promise you. Won't it be nice to have another girl around here?"

Mabel pursed her lips. "You mean another princess?"

"Of course not," he said soothingly. Everyone knew that Mabel didn't really think of herself as a princess, but she rather liked her unique status as the only other girl besides her mother. "But I know you like doing braiding, and she's got nice long hair."

Mabel's eyes lit up.

"I don't think you should be making promises like that for her," cautioned Bridget.

"She'll love Mabel," said Matt. "That I can promise you."

They were just about done with a long, relaxed lunch, sipping on fruit juice and snacking on grapes, when they heard the sound of the front door. Within a few minutes both Scott and Mark appeared in the kitchen. It was immediately evident that they had something on their mind, both through their expressions and the uncharacteristically curt greetings to the children. 

"Hey," said Bridget. "How did today go?"

"May we speak to you in private?" Scott returned.

"That well, eh?" she returned in a light tone, trying to keep the children from worrying. She rose from the chair. "All right, lead on."

Scott led them to the library, and once she and Mark had entered the room, Scott closed the door. Both Scott and Mark had equally stern and piercing gazes.

"So," Scott said in a serious tone. "How did you spend your morning?"

His question seemed almost like a trick, like he knew how she would answer before she spoke a word. "I went for a swim in the lake," she said. It was not technically a lie.

"Ah," he said. "Yes." He looked away, paced a bit, then turned back to her. "I send you compliments from Sir Alistair, or more precisely, your… attractive figure."

She felt her face, her entire body, flush a deep, hot crimson. 

"I'm not going to find a damp swimsuit hanging to dry in the loo, am I?" Scott went on.

"I don't understand how anyone saw me," she whispered, mortified.

"He came by here after we had gone, hoping to catch me before I left. He happened to spot you _au naturel_ —and wanted to let me know as a friend, what he'd seen… in confidence, of course, not to shame you."

She brought her hands up to her face. "I'm sorry—I just wanted to be a little rebellious," she muttered. "I'll never be able to look him in the eye again."

She felt a hand on her shoulder. "On the plus side," said Mark, "he was not particularly close to the lake. And it was only a quick look."

"He seemed more amused than anything," added Scott. "Though it's likely as not he will never be able to look _you_ in the eye again." He paced again, looked to Mark, then said to her in equal seriousness, "Just one more thing I want to know."

"What?"

"Why have you never thought to go skinny-dipping when I was around?"

She blinked in her disbelief before Scott cracked a smile, then began to chuckle.

"I'm not saying you were doing it to be watched," he added quickly. "But I would have enjoyed the view nonetheless."

"At the risk of sounding a bit like a chauvinist pig…" added Mark, "…hear, hear."

She understood the lesson they were trying to demonstrate about caution in public places—but internally, and traitorously to her feminist sensibilities, she was quite pleased to still be able to turn heads and command attention. _Three cheers for Zumba_ , she thought. "If I didn't love you so much," she said, "I'd bollock the both of you for scaring me."

A knock at the door just then announced Mabel's concern: "Is Mummy in trouble again?"

"All's well," said Scott as he opened the door to her. "Don't worry. No spanking this time."

" _This_ time?" Bridget asked, incredulous.

### Mon, 25 Jul

Bridget had heard the words that had been said. She just couldn't believe she was hearing them.

"They're… they're _what_?"

"I _said_ ," repeated her agent, Brian Katzenberg, "that a major motion picture studio has offered to purchase the rights and green-light _Time Stand Still Here_ , a far better offer than the Beeb, and if everything falls into place, casting is set for September, and filming begins next summer in LA."

She found herself sitting on the sofa with no memory of having put herself there. From her side, Scott's very concerned face hovered nearby. 

"You're joking," Bridget said. Not a small English film, but actual Hollywood? "You must be."

He laughed. "I'm really not."

"Wow," she said; unable to come up with anything else to say, she said again, " _Wow_."

"Congratulations," he said. "And well done. You should be very proud."

"Thank you," she burbled. "Oh, my God."

"Shall I accept the offer on your behalf, then?"

_Durr_ , she thought, hitting herself mentally on the forehead. "Yes, of course, if you think it's a good offer," she said, then again said, "Thank you."

"It is. And don't thank me," he said. " _You_ did the hard work."

She said goodbye, punched the button to disconnect the call, then looked to Scott.

He said, "Well, I assume that was something good, yes?"

She brought her hands up to her face. "They're going to buy and film my screenplay," she said, though it was muffled by her hands. "Hollywood. _Time Stand Still Here_."

"Was there another I didn't know about?" he teased, then reached forward to take her into his arms. "Congratulations," he said. "Though I can't in all honesty say I am surprised. It's good. It's _bloody_ good."

"Not that you're biased or anything," she said, amused, resting her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt. She knew, though, that he would have been honest with her if he had critical comments to make, never would have praised something he did not like. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but they were amongst the happiest tears she'd ever cried.

"What's going on? Everything okay? Is it about Dad?"

She looked up to see Billy, who looked quite concerned.

"Everything's fine," she said. "In fact, it's fantastic." And then she took his hand, tugged him towards her—he was still not too big to sit on his mother's lap—then told him what her phone call had been about; his eyes grew wider with each word.

"Like, you mean, a _film_?" Billy asked. "With actors and stuff?"

She laughed. "Yes," she said, then pecked him on the cheek. "Your mummy's a bona-fide, two-for-two sold, successful screenwriter."

"I'm _really_ proud of you, Mummy," Billy said, adoration plain in his expression. "After all the stuff last year…" Then, unexpectedly, he burst into tears and leaned forward to cling to her. "…with Mabel being sick… and Daddy…"

"I know," she said, feeling emotional herself. How things had so turned around in the space of a year.

"Wait 'til Daddy hears," said Billy. "He'll be super proud, too."

Since it had always been Mark's desire for her to have her own career and success, she knew this to be absolutely true, and she tightened her hug on her son. _Their_ son. Mark had had to return to the city for work obligations, but would be back to Capthorpe House in a couple of days. "I'll ring him up before dinner to let him know," she said. "I don't want to wait until he's back to tell him."

"You know," said Billy, "maybe they'll let us come visit when they're filming. Wouldn't that be cool?"

Bridget glanced to Scott. If Mabel was fit for that kind of travel, why shouldn't they plan a lovely holiday in southern California? Maybe they could get in a visit with Shazzer, too, a little further north. "That would be _super_ cool," she said, mimicking Billy's tone. "But let's not put the cart before the horse."

"What?"

Bridget then adopted her mock-Pam voice: "Don't say what, darling—say 'Pardon'." This made Billy giggle.

"It just means let's not get our hearts set on something that might not happen," Scott explained. "Hope for the best, but not be too disappointed if we can't make it happen."

Billy nodded. "I understand," he said. "I'll just hope really hard for the best."

### Sat, 30 Jul

Amber's arrival for a stay at Capthorpe House had thrown Bridget into more of a whirl than she'd expected. She was still riding high on the news of her screenplay being green-lit for production, so when Matt had asked if Amber could come a week sooner than expected and stay longer, she'd happily said yes. She didn't think that Scott or Mark would mind, and she was right, though Scott asked her if she'd given any thought to where they would allow the girl to sleep.

"No, I hadn't," she said. "Why? As you reminded me not too long ago, it's not like there aren't plenty of rooms."

"I just meant," he said, "that I don't want to put her too close to Matt's room. I don't want to make sneaking around too easy for them."

"Trust in him a little, won't you?" she said gently. "You've had the big talk with him. He's a responsible young man. And he knows you could disable him in three seconds flat."

"Are you sure I can't just lock Matt in his room?" Scott said, half-jokingly.

So they planned to meet her early in the afternoon on that Saturday at the nearby train station: Matt, Bridget, and Scott. Matt spotted her right away, given the way his face lit up with a smile. Bridget followed the line of his sight to the beautiful, statuesque, dark-skinned girl, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail. Amber then spotted their group, spotted Matt, and she smiled, too, striding quickly towards them.

"Hi, Matt," she said shyly, then glanced to Bridget and Scott. "Hello, Mr Wallaker, Mrs Darcy."

"Nice to see you again," said Scott.

"Please, call me Bridget," she said. 

Matt cleared his throat. "Hi, Amber." Hesitantly he reached out his hand, and equally hesitantly, Amber reached to take it. Scott gestured that they leave the platform for the car park.

"Ready for a week in the country with the lot of us?" asked Bridget with a grin.

"Sounds wonderful," she said. "I'm looking forward to meeting the little brothers and sister." Then she paused. "She's better now? Matt told me she was pretty sick."

"She's well on the way to full recovery," said Scott. "You'd never know to look at her that she had ever been ill."

"I'm _really_ glad to hear that," she said, flashing another bright, heartfelt smile. 

The drive back to the house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so; Bridget stole a glance to the back seat to see Matt and Amber—who were just about the same height—were sitting closely together, his arm around her shoulders, speaking in tones too low for Bridget to make out. It was all right, though; she was sure they had some private catching up to do.

When they entered the house, Bridget couldn't help laughing at the sight awaiting them: there, sitting on the staircase was Mabel, her large purple comb in hand. "Hi!" she said, getting to her feet then coming closer.

"Amber," said Bridget. "This is Mabel. She'll be your hairdresser this week."

Amber laughed, then crouched down a bit to make herself closer to Mabel's height. "Mabel," she said, "I'm Amber. I'm delighted to meet you."

"Are you Matt's girlfriend?"

"I am," Amber said. "And _you_ are Matt's sister, right?"

"Yep," she said, then added after a thoughtful moment, "Well, we don't have the same mummy or daddy, but he's my brother anyway, just like Billy."

"Oh, Billy and Fred," said Amber, rising to her full height again. "Are they here?"

"They're probably kicking a footie around in the back garden," said Bridget. "Ah, here they come now."

Billy and Fred came running in, their colour high, followed shortly behind by a smiling Mark. "Hello," Mark said. "You must be Amber."

Amber furrowed her brows. "I am," she said.

"I'm so sorry; forgive my rudeness," said Mark, holding a hand out to shake. "Mark Darcy. Billy and Mabel's dad."

Amber looked stunned, and accepted the handshake. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr Darcy." She looked to the boys, who were about the same height. "And I'm going to guess that you are Fred—" She pointed to Billy, then Fred. "—and you're Billy?"

"Other way around," Fred said, with a light laugh. "I'm Fred."

"I should have guessed," said Amber. "You look like your brother, after all. It's really nice to meet you all."

"Why don't I show you up to your room?" said Bridget, gesturing to the staircase. "Then you can, I don't know, have a little lunch?"

Matt adjusted her bag on his shoulder as they looked to each other. "Sure," said Amber.

As Bridget led the way up the stairs, she heard Amber quietly ask Matt, "So, the other guy."

"Who, Mr Darcy?"

"Uh-huh."

"You know… like Mrs Darcy, obviously," he said. Now they were on the landing, heading towards the bedroom.

"Ah," she said. "Ex-husband?"

"No," said Matt. "Not ex."

A beat, then: "Wait. What?"

"It's a little complicated."

"Here we are," said Bridget brightly, and a little too loudly. "Matt's room is just on the other side of the staircase." She pointed. "Ours is a floor up. We're putting a lot of trust in you, so I'd appreciate you not breaking that trust, all right?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Excellent." She smiled. "I'm assuming you'll have a little catching up to do, so I'll leave you be." She took a couple of steps away, then turned back. "Amber, you should know now… Mabel is very likely to be your shadow. She'll be deeply envious of your hair."

Amber giggled. "Thanks—though she seems to be a darling. I'm sure I won't mind."

"And Matt? Keep the door open, please."

"Yes, ma'am," said Matt with a grin, sounding eerily like his father.

She left them on their own, and went back downstairs. Scott was still where she'd left him, but the others had gone off elsewhere.

"All settled in?" asked Scott.

"More or less," she said. "Did they go back outside?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm going to go talk to Albert about some routine household maintenance stuff. You're welcome to join me."

"I'll pass, if you don't mind," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders, then raising up on tip-toes to peck him on the lips.

"You told them to keep the door open, yes?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, dear," she said.

She decided to head outdoors, and there in the back garden, Fred and Mabel were kicking the football back and forth. She lowered her brow. 

"Mabel," said Bridget, "where are Billy and Daddy?"

"Billy wanted to show Daddy something," she said, not missing a beat with the ball.

Bridget wondered for a moment what that might have meant, but motion out of the corner of her eye, on the other side of the garden, over near the paved patio, caught her attention. She watched Mark and Billy sit on the low wall just on the other side of the hedge. Curious, she went over to where they were and listened, preparing to retreat if she heard anything she thought might not be meant for her ears.

"It was really great," she heard Billy say. "All the parents sat over there, and we were all set up where the paving stones are, and the sound was all around, and the sun was going down…. It was awesome."

"I bet you did very well."

"Not _that_ well," Billy said. "I'm much better now."

"I've heard you rehearsing," said Mark. "You're good. But you're right. That was…"

"Three years ago."

"So yes. I'm sure you've improved."

There was a beat before Billy spoke again. "I sure wish you could have been there."

Billy was speaking, of course, of the summer concert the first year she'd known Scott Wallaker, before she'd fallen in love with him, or at least, before she'd realised she'd fallen in love. Bridget felt herself unexpectedly nostalgic… and unexpectedly thought of the last time she'd overheard a conversation by a hedge in a garden, back when she was convinced Mark was in love with her former friend, Rebecca. She hadn't thought of that in years…

"Oh, Billy," Mark said, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could have been there too. You know, maybe we could set up out here again and you could play a little."

"Oh… I dunno. I'd be really nervous."

"You wouldn't need to be," said Mark. "It'd be just for family."

"Oh." There was another long pause. "I guess that'd be cool, then."

Before she could be found out, Bridget retreated back to the house to allow the father and son their time together. Mark had not had the smooth start with Billy that he'd had with Mabel, but now things were so much better between them… _Even if_ , thought Bridget, _Billy's favourite football club has not turned out to be the same as Mark's_. She laughed quietly. _Or even Scott's_.

She went back towards the house. Mabel and Fred were no longer kicking the now-abandoned football around, but she could tell upon entering, by the sandals that sat by the door, that they had come inside, probably to get a snack or something to drink. All was quiet from her perspective in the foyer, but rather than unsettle her, she felt quite at peace in a way that she had not felt in some time.

Bridget went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine, then took it to the library to relax and read a little more Woolf.

The feel on her knee of a hot little hand brought her from a doze she hadn't realised she'd slipped into. Blinking sleepily, she focused on her daughter, who stood before her, her pigtails askew, a smudge of dirt on her shirt, and a smile on her face.

"Were you reading, Mummy?"

"Yup," she said. "Been a while since I could just sit and read all by myself."

"Daddy wanted me to find you to say it's almost time for dinner," she said. "He said you might be in here."

Bridget smiled. Her Mabel. Her Mark. Had almost lost one, had lost and found the other. "He knows me very well," she said. She stood and stretched up her arms.

"Have you really known Daddy for twenty years?"

"Mm-hm," she said, then amended, "Actually, that's how long ago he became my boyfriend, but I first knew him when I was younger than you. So… wow. A little over fifty years ago."

Mabel's eyes went wide. "That's _forever_!"

At this, she laughed out loud. "It sure must seem that way."

"Fifty years on," came Mark's voice from the hallway, "and you're still running 'round pools of water with no clothes on."

It wasn't until much later, not until after dinner when they were preparing for bed, that Bridget was able to ask Mark exactly how much he had heard to make the comment he had.

"Enough to hear Mabel ask something about twenty years," he said, then chuckled to himself. "'Boyfriend'. That does seem an age ago."

"An age," she said, "and yet, somehow just like yesterday."

"Mm-hm," he said, reached to take her into his arms.

"It feels a bit strange," she said.

"What does?"

"Oh, being hyper-vigilant about Matt and Amber, whilst alternating bedrooms to sleep in at night. I feel like a hypocrite."

She felt the light laugh rock his chest slightly. "Nonsense," he said. "You have the benefit of experience to make informed decisions, something that they don't."

The benefit of experience, indeed. Though it had not always been smooth sailing, what a wonderful experience it had been. 


	4. On Such a Winter's Day

They did not wait to go to southern California the following summer; in fact, they planned instead to go over the Christmas break at the studio's invitation. Mabel's doctors gave her a gleaming health report and cleared her to travel, which meant that she was absolutely bouncing off of the walls with excitement. "We're going to _Hollywood_!" she cried. "We're going to be in the _pictures_!"

"We're not going to be in the pictures, sweetheart," said Bridget with a laugh. "We might be going to a studio lot, though, where they make the pictures. That'll be exciting, won't it?"

Mabel's response was to shriek excitedly and run around in circles.

"I'm glad our trip's _not_ in the summer," Mark said. "We'd never make it that long. She'd drive us mad."

"One thing's for sure," added Scott. "She's definitely recovered."

### Fri, 16 Dec

Mabel's and Billy's passports sure took their time arriving to the house, threatening the family's on-time departure for Los Angeles; fortunately they arrived with mere days to spare, and the trip went off without a hitch.

"It was always one of those things I always meant to take care of," Bridget had said once the passports had arrived. "I never expected it would take so long to get them back." She kissed the passport covers, one at a time, as she held them up like a fan.

"The wheels of government bureaucracy grind exceeding slow," quipped Mark, who took then patted her hand.

The studio had booked first-class flights and accommodations for the family, and Bridget thought that they probably regretted making the offer immediately upon hearing there were seven of them. As she boarded the plane and saw where they would be spending the duration of the flight, Bridget was more sure of it than ever. Her mouth gaped open as she looked around; she had never imagined that a plane could be so decadently spacious and comfortable.

"This must have cost a _bloody fortune_!" she whispered to Mark and Scott. The children seemed equally awed. There was a common area, and separate small areas to sit in and close a door for privacy. "I think my flat was smaller than this first class area," she said.

"This is the very best way to fly transatlantic," Mark said. "Or should I say, transarctic."

"Transarc _what_?" asked Bridget.

"Over the North Pole."

They heard a gasp, and turned to look at Mabel, who stood there staring at the three adults. "North Pole?" she asked, incredulous. "There's really a real North Pole?"

Bridget stifled a laugh. She suspected that Mabel was talking about an actual pole sticking out of the ground.

"Yes, there really is a real North Pole," said Mark. Now Bridget suspected Mark thought the same, and was having a bit of a laugh.

"I thought that was just something people said!"

"Nope, it's real."

She thought about it for a bit, then said with an air of decisiveness, "I'm gonna look out of the window the whole time."

"You don't need to do that," said Bridget. "You could watch the flight path on the entertainment system. We're so high up that we'd never see it from here, anyway… even if we did manage to pass right over it."

"But if Santa lives at the North Pole," countered Mabel, "he'd have his lights on, and we'd see that, wouldn't we?"

Fortunately for everyone's sanity, the start of the flight was spent over cloud cover, of which Mabel quickly grew bored. Within an hour of take-off, she was sleeping close to Mark's side, and as if it were contagious, Mark was soon sleeping too. She looked upon the pair with great love and fondness. Her husband, who had saved their daughter.

Billy got himself settled in, reached for his knapsack, and surprised Bridget by pulling out not his personal gaming device but a book. Fred, however, immersed himself in games, and Matt utilised the Wi-Fi on his laptop to chat with Amber, at least until it was too late in London. Then he put away the computer and drifted off too.

Bridget… well, she had a very comfortable trip; the spaciousness of the first class compartment meant that she could alternate resting against Scott when Mark was reviewing briefs, or against Mark when Scott was dozing. She dozed, too, when she wasn't reading, watching a film, or having a meal. Their eleven-hour flight meant that they would arrive a mere three hours on the clock after their departure from London.

"This is weird," said Billy as they prepared to deplane. "We've been on here forever and it's not even close to—" He broke into a yawn. "—bedtime."

"I think it might be closer to bedtime than you think," said Scott.

"But I didn't do anything but sit and sleep and read. Why am I so tired?"

"Travelling just takes it out of you," Bridget said. Mark was carrying a limp and sleeping Mabel off of the plane. "It'll take us a day or so to get used to the change, so it'll be important for us to get on Pacific time as soon as possible."

"Pacific time? That sounds so cool," said Billy. He yawned again. "Oceans of time." Then he giggled.

"You're overtired," said Bridget.

Passage through Customs was blessedly brief and they were on their way to baggage reclaim (or, as the sign said, 'baggage claim') and the car that she had been assured would be waiting for them. Sure enough, just after leaving the security area, a sign:

BRIDGET DARCY & FAMILY

"I guess that's us sorted, then," said Matt with amusement. 

"I hope they booked a minivan," quipped Mark, a drowsy Mabel on his hip.

They had in fact booked a minivan, and they and their baggage were whisked away to their home through Christmas. It was more than she ever expected or would have imagined: six bedrooms, three baths, a sitting room, but so much more. Outdoor pool, Jacuzzi and sauna. Expansive patio with an amazing view of West Hollywood below.

"I can't believe it," whispered Bridget reverently. "It's like a dream."

"Ground rules about the swimming pool, right now, children," said Scott with authority. "No one— _no one_ —will get in without an adult present…"

She was distracted from his safety lecture by Mark's arm around her. "I couldn't have picked out a finer place to stay myself," he said. "If this is any indication of their taste, your film's going to be amazing."

She laughed. "This studio has funded more than one bomb, darling," she said. "But I will admit this is an auspicious start."

After a light snack in the full kitchen, eaten on the back patio in the cool of the evening with a roaring fire in the fire pit, it was easy to guide all four children into their rooms and to sleep. She was quite sleepy herself; in fact, she fell asleep in a patio chair, and woke up in bed. She didn't need the light to know who was there beside her, and she pulled herself up against him, revelling in his scent and his warmth. 

### Sat, 17 Dec 

"It's sunny! In _December_!"

"Can we have Christmas on the beach?"

"I don't think it's going to be that warm," said Bridget. "But… I won't rule it out."

"Isn't it just amazing here?" asked Matt. "Every picture I've put on Twitter has gotten loads of faves."

Bridget groaned, then sat down where the whole family had convened for breakfast—on the patio in the dappled sunlight, around the table in deck chairs, under the trees and with a refreshing breeze—and reached for a pastry to go with the coffee she'd poured herself. "Don't tell me you're on Twitter," she said as she took a seat. She hadn't logged on in months and months. "Hey. Did no one save me a chocolate croissant?"

"There wasn't a chocolate croissant," said Billy. 

"Wait a minute—are _you_ on Twitter?" Matt asked, his mouth falling open, as if he'd never considered the possibility.

Both Mark and Scott looked to her. Both of them knew she was, though she had never given them her Twitter name.

"I'll never say."

"Ha! You _are_!" said Matt. "I'm gonna find you."

"You'll never find her," said Scott. "Trust me."

"I haven't tweeted in some time," she said. 

"Thanks for that clue."

"Anyway," said Bridget in a clipped tone. "About chocolate croissants."

"We'll track down a patisserie with chocolate croissants, don't worry," said Mark. "They must exist here."

"Pages and pages on Google," said Matt, toying with his phone.

She chuckled, then rested back in the seat, looking at the flaky pastry with a dollop of apricot right in the centre. "I guess for now this will have to do."

"Mummy," asked Mabel, who had clearly settled on something with strawberry given the red splotch on the corner of her mouth, "when is Auntie Shazzie gonna get here?"

Given the craziness of getting to California, she had almost forgotten that Shazzer would be arriving late that afternoon, and Bridget suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia. It had been far too long since they had been face to face. Her husband was not going to come with her—"I think he feels like he'll just be like a third wheel," she said—but they'd see him on their reciprocal trip for Boxing Day.

After breakfast, Mark had wasted no time in unpacking his bag and then Bridget's and Mabel's, while Bridget helped Billy and Fred, and Scott and Matt took care of their respective things. It amused Bridget to think that Mark had worn off on them all this way.

"Where's Auntie Shazzie gonna sleep?" asked Mabel. "Can she sleep in my room?"

"That's actually a terrific idea," said Bridget. "But promise me you won't stay up all hours talking and giggling."

"I promise, Mummy," she said solemnly.

Bridget was really very glad that they had taken the weekend to adjust to the time difference. As lunch approached Bridget felt herself getting really tired, and debated having a short nap.

"No wonder you're tired," Scott commented. "It's nearly nine in the evening in London."

"I'd resist," said Mark. "Otherwise you'll never get to sleep tonight."

She debated for a while, then decided to rest with a book. She ended up falling to sleep anyway.

"Mummy?"

She roused to see Billy standing there, her mobile to his ear.

"It's Auntie Shazzie."

She pushed herself up and extended her hand. "Oh, thanks, darling," she said, then brought the phone up to her ear. "Hey there," she said.

"Hey!" she said. "I just touched down and I'll be there soon."

"Oh!" she said, glancing to a clock, shocked to see that it was three in the afternoon. "Great! Can't wait to see you."

"Can't wait to see you, too," she said. "And can't wait to kick Mark Bloody Darcy in the arse." She said this with a laugh.

"He's looking forward to seeing you, too," she said.

There was a beat before she spoke again. "How's that all going?" she asked quietly.

"With the two of them? So far, so good," said Bridget.

"And they're not… you know, fighting in the street?"

"Nope," Bridget said. "They're actually mates. They watch the football together, take the boys out fishing…"

"Do they draw straws every night?" Shaz said with a laugh. "Oh, listen, have to go. Still the same address you gave me before?"

"Yep," she said.

"All right," Shaz said. "Will be seeing you soon."

She pressed the button to disconnect the call, then looked up to see Billy still standing there. "Did you need something else, sweetie?"

"Just wanted to sit with you for a little bit," he said, almost shyly.

"Of course."

Billy was reaching that age where he was filled with conflicting feelings; he still loved and wanted time with his mum, but was also starting to feel that he shouldn't want it, was too old for it, was embarrassed by it; that wanting it made him feel like a baby and not a pre-teen. She welcomed every opportunity to reassure him that loving his mum would never mean he was a baby.

She put her arm around him and snuggled him tight, pressing a kiss into the curls at the top of his head. There was a moment when he reacted by trying to pull away, but remembered that they were there alone, and returned the hug fully.

"You know that you can come to me with anything, right?" she murmured quietly to her son.

"Yeah, Mum," he said. He was strangely quiet.

"Anything," she repeated softly, tightening her hug. "Is there something on your mind?"

"Maybe," he said tentatively.

"Are you happy? Is something wrong?"

"Yes," he said. "I mean, no. I mean, yes, I'm happy, and no, nothing's wrong. I'm just… worried."

"Worried about what, darling?"

"That everything is too good," he lamented. "Too good to be true."

Bridget knew the feeling well and she said so. 

"I am just… worried," he repeated. "That maybe Daddy will leave again. Or Dah will decide he doesn't want to be here anymore, maybe want a wife of his own, and go and take my brothers with him."

"Oh, love," she said, hugging him tightly to her. "Daddy is not going to leave again, I promise you this. Cross my heart. And Dah… he's not going anywhere either."

"But what if he did?"

"He's not."

"But what if he did?" he asked again. "And I never see him again?"

"Even in the remotest of possibilities that he were to go," said Bridget, "there is no way you'd never see him again. He thinks of you as much of a son as Matt or Fred. He loves you too much to ever hurt you that way."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

She felt Billy's tension go out of him and he relaxed a little in her arms; he sniffed as if fighting back some tears. "It took me a while to stop thinking like that," Bridget went on, kissing his head again. "But I realised that the two people I trust most in the world—your dad and your dah—trust and love me, too. And they love you and Mabel, Matt and Fred… and in their own way, I think they love each other, too. Like brothers. If they started to feel bad or uncertain, they would talk to me first, and not just decide to leave." She sighed, resting her cheek against his head. "I want you to promise me something."

"What, Mummy?"

"That you will stop worrying," she said, "and enjoy the fact that you have two very good men there for you as you grow up. You have two older brothers, which would otherwise have been impossible without Dah. And you have a sister with you who adores you all, which would probably not been possible without Dad returning."

Billy was silent for a few moments, then said, "Okay. I'll try."

"Good," she said, holding him, and not letting go, not until her protesting stomach made her realise she'd missed lunch. Billy either heard it or felt it—or both—and began to laugh as only a ten-year-old boy can laugh at a bodily noise.

He drew away from her and said, still smiling but in a tone that mimicked his dad at his sternest, "Come now, Mummy, you should have a little lunch before Auntie Shaz gets here."

She had an apple, a few slices of cheddar, and a big glass of milk, which won Billy's approval and settled her rowdy stomach. Mabel running into the kitchen wailing like a siren let Bridget know that Shazzer's car had arrived:

"Mummeeee, sheeee's heeeeeere!

Bridget grinned broadly, felt tears well in her eyes. She heard the bell on the front door go off. She dropped down off of the stool at the breakfast nook and went towards the foyer of the house. By the time she got there Shaz was inside, and Mabel was hugging her tightly around the waist.

"Bridge!" said Shaz; with her shorter, surprisingly mostly grey hair, sparkle in her eyes, and a slightly rounder face and figure, she had never looked better or happier. They had seen one another the Christmas after she and Scott had gotten together, had often chatted via Skype, but to see her again after almost two years… time fell away and she reached out as Bridget went to her for a hug.

"Oh, Bridge, you are looking so _thin_ ," she said; whether she was serious or paying homage to Tom's long-time phone greeting wasn't clear, but she laughed. Into Bridget's ear, she whispered, "Must be all of the shagging."

"Shazzer," she hissed in return, tapping her friend on the arm, but Bridget was laughing too.

Soon enough the rest of the family was there in the foyer, and they all hugged in turn; she seemed to save Mark for last, and she fixed him with a stern look. "You gave us quite a fright, mister," she said, then smiled, then stepped forward to give him a hug. "Oh, it _is_ good to see you, you boring old arse."

He laughed and hugged her back. "It's good to see you, too, you loud-mouthed feminazi," he said to Shazzer, humour and emotion thick in his tone, causing her and Bridget to laugh uproariously.

"What's a feminazi, Mummy?" asked Mabel.

"Oh, God," said Bridget, pulling Mabel to her. "Your daddy is only kidding."

"But what _is_ it?"

"A feminist who is perhaps a little too eager and radical," said Shazzer.

"What's a feminist?"

Shaz shot an accusing look to Bridget. "You're falling down on the job, Bridge," she teased.

"Mabel knows what a feminist is," said Bridget. "She just doesn't know the word. Mabel—women are equal to men, and can do anything men can do, right?"

"Durr, of course."

Scott interceded: "Mabel, don't say 'Durr' to your mum."

"Sorry."

"Well, that's what a feminist is," said Bridget. "Someone who believes that to be true."

"Oh!" said Mabel. She then started to march around, chanting, "I. Am. A. Fem. Ih. Nist!"

"Well," said Shaz. "Seems I owe you an apology for suggesting you might not be bringing her up right."

"Apology accepted," said Bridget. "Now, let's get your bag to your room. Well, the one you're sharing with Mabel."

"Oh, goody!" said Shazzer. "Girl time!"

Thus began Girl Time. Matt went off to chat online with Amber; Billy and Fred went to play a video game together, and Mark and Scott went off for a jog around the neighbourhood, leaving the three of them alone. Shaz insisted that they pop open a bottle of wine in a celebration of sorts. "I mean, for you and me," said Shaz. "Mabel can have something else."

Fortunately the kitchen did in fact have wine and wine glasses. They gave Mabel apple juice in one of them, then took the wine bottle and went to the sitting room to recline in comfort.

"So how are you dealing with jet lag?" she said, then tipped up her glass to take a sip.

"I feel a little out of it, as you might imagine," she said, cradling her glass with both hands. "But I'm so glad to be here, it's worth it."

"Nothing that a good night's sleep and a—"

"Do not finish that sentence," warned Bridget.

"Sheesh, I was going to say a _back rub_. Nothing a good night's sleep and a back rub can't fix," said Shaz. "You have a filthy mind."

But then, true to form, she winked.

After a glass apiece Bridget and Shaz were feeling pleasantly buzzed. "I'm _such_ a lightweight now," said Shaz, leaning back; Mabel was cradled against her, looking extremely pleased to be included.

"Yep," she said. "Can't hold my drink, either. One glass. Pbbbbt." She blew air out through her lips. 

"Where's your ciggie?"

"Haven't touched one in eight years," said Bridget. "Where's yours?"

"Not a _single_ cigarette?" Shaz asked, obviously surprised.

"Nope," she said, then amended, "well, two puffs on a spliff at a party. But that's it."

"Mine," said Shaz, "has a tiny computer in it. It's one of those e-cigarettes. Very poshly Silicon Valley, no?" She poured more wine. "But I'm not going to smoke in front of the sproglet, here."

"Was so hard to give up," said Bridget. "I tried before I had Billy, but caved after he was born."

Mabel started to giggle. "I know what you mean, Mummy," she said. "I can't give up Minstrels no matter how hard I try."

Bridget laughed, though didn't quite understand the giggling.

"It's a tough life, Mabes," said Shazzer.

They drank another glass, poured more; Shaz asked Mabel how school was going. 

"Oh, it's great!" she said. "I'm so happy to be with my friends again. And doing lessons at home with Dah means I'm not behind at all."

"I'm so pleased," she said, hugging the girl again. " _So_ pleased! Love you and your face, little sproglet." Then she peppered Mabel's hair with rapid-fire kisses, which made Mabel laugh even more.

"I'm not a sproglet," she said, almost incomprehensibly between her giggles. "I'm going to be nine in January! That's almost ten!"

"Ohh, to be 'almost ten' again," said Shaz.

"Eh, I wouldn't want to be ten again," said Bridget. "I wasn't that crazy about it the first time around. No offense, Sproglet."

"Mummeeee," said Mabel, but she was still smiling.

"Ah, wine. An entire bottle. I should have guessed."

It was Mark—of course it was Mark, who had witnessed so much of their previous drunken debauchery years ago—standing behind where she sat on the sofa, but he was smiling. 

"I presume that Mabel has—"

"Vodka!" Mabel exclaimed.

" _Apple juice_ ," corrected Shaz. "We're not _that_ bad." She then lifted and drained her glass. 

"Still true," said Mark. She felt his hand atop her head, and she looked up in time to find him bending down to peck a quick kiss on her lips. "You've always been adorable when you're squiffy."

She felt her skin flush red—why, she wasn't sure—and she reached up to hook a hand around the back of his head to kiss him properly. Her heart raced; even after more than a year since his return, she still felt the excitement, the thrill, that he was back, that he was here.

"Get a room," muttered Shaz.

"Later," teased Mark, then drew up to his full height again. "What are we feeling like having for dinner?"

"Maybe… the hugest pizza you could ever buy!" said Mabel.

"And how did I know you were going to say that, darling?" said Mark. "Come with me. Let's have a look through the directory and find one that looks nice."

"Daddy, you can just use the Googles."

"Well, then, I definitely need you to come help me."

As they left, Bridget looked across the coffee table to where Shaz sat. Shaz looked mischievous, her eyes sparking, her mouth twisted into a smug smile. "He's how old, now?"

"Sixty."

She whistled. "That man," she said quietly, "has aged like a fine, _fine_ wine. Mind you, Scott's no slouch, either."

"Like Ryan is."

Shaz smiled softly as she obviously thought of her husband with fondness. "Yeah." 

"Yeah," echoed Bridget, who had been happy from the start that her friend had found her life partner. He was no Adonis, but love made him the most handsome man in the world to her, and that was all that mattered. It also helped that he obviously adored Shazzer, which was huge given previous fuckwittage from Simon and similar.

Bridget was surprised that they were able to get pizza delivery in the home up there in the Hills, but the delivery driver—a cheerful, bubbly young lady bearing the name tag Ashley—seemed to do it frequently. Bridget considered another bottle of wine but then decided against it, as she did not want to be laid up with a vile hangover for all of Sunday and the remainder of Shazzer's visit.

It was quite the happy scene, the entire family sitting out on the patio in the pleasantly cool night air, with a fire going in the fire pit again. "This is awfully nice," said Shazzer, who also opted for sparking water with dinner. "I sort of wished you lived out here, though I know that's an impossible dream."

"I wish Ryan's London interests would pick up steam," said Bridget, "so that you can come back to England. We all miss you so much."

"I know, and I miss you too," she said. "But I also love it in northern California."

"Someone just needs to invent one of those Star Trek things," said Fred. "You know, the transporter."

"Ooh, yes, that'd be ideal," said Shaz. "No more eleven-hour flights."

"I liked our flight, Mummy," said Mabel. "We had fun watching films and playing games."

"Eleven-hour flights are not always so cosy," Bridget said; she shot a glance to Shazzer. "Remember?"

"That flight to Thailand. Oh, Chr—crikey," she corrected at the last moment. "Cattle class… knees to yer chin, thigh to thigh with strangers… ugh." Bridget expected she didn't care to recall exactly beside which stranger she had sat. Fucking Jed.

"So what shall we do tomorrow?" said Bridget.

"What have you done since you've been here?" Shaz asked.

"Mostly just lazed about the house."

"Ohh," said Shaz with a playful grin. "I've been here enough times that I could show you around. Maybe we could go somewhere that is a little off the beaten path. What do you guys think about going up into the hills, to Griffith Observatory? Even if we don't go inside—and I think you might want to do—the view from up there is pretty amazing and it's pretty close to the Hollywood sign. Oh. Or maybe to the La Brea Tar Pits."

The children's ears perked up, clearly intrigued, as Bridget would have expected the phrase 'tar pits' to evoke.

"D'ya mean where they found actual dinosaurs?"

"Yep."

Bridget shot Scott and Mark a look. _I think we have a winner._


	5. Sunbathing on Christmas

### Sun, 18 Dec

It had been hard to say goodbye, though the parting was made easier in the knowledge that they would be travelling north soon to visit Shaz and Ryan, and the beautiful San Francisco Bay area. They would not, of course, see all of the sights during that visit, just as they had only had a limited time to see highlights in Los Angeles.

The kids had loved both of their choices for Sunday in Los Angeles: the morning drive in the 8-seater 'minivan' that they had at their disposal—"We're up and out of the house before eight; have we gone mad?" Shaz had pondered—before jaunting down to where the famous tar pits were. Mabel's eyes went wide as saucers seeing the great statues of prehistoric animals as they might have looked getting sucked into the tar pits.

The day passed all too quickly, and before they knew it Shaz was packing up her bag to head to the airport to go home. Before the taxi came for her—she insisted they not go through the hassle of driving to the airport—Bridget gave her friend a long, tight hug. "See you next weekend," she said. "Happy Christmas."

Unsurprisingly, the kids—even sixteen-year-old Matt—were all so knackered from the day's events that they were in bed and asleep before nine in the evening. There were plans to go to the studio the very next day, so it was just as well they'd get a good night's sleep. Bridget noticed that Mark seemed a little introspective, and Scott seemed to notice too, as he said his goodnights and left her alone with Mark.

"You all right?" she asked quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Mmm, yes," he said distractedly. "The years just came rushing back, seeing Sharon again." He raised a hand to cover hers. "It's also a bit odd to be back here. In the US. It had started to feel that those seven years here were a bit of a dream, an interlude." He paused. "A limbo state."

_A nightmare_ , thought Bridget. She came around to sit with her arm around his shoulders, her legs across his lap to give him a reassuring hug. "That limbo's over," she said.

"Oh, I know, and I'm so very grateful," he said.

He kissed her; she kissed him back. After the travel, then Shazzer's arrival, she had had no time to do anything but sleep side by side with the men in her life. Even though she was tired from the day, she had a need to be close to him, and she sensed the same was true for him. 

"Come," he said, confirming her suspicions; "let's call it a night."

And so they went to bed, but not quite yet to sleep.

### Weds, 21 Dec

The visits to the studio were exciting and the days passed quickly. Having worked in television, Bridget was not inclined to be star-struck, though her first moments on the lot after their arrival had been the most surprising of all: greeting her was none other than George himself, late of Greenlight Productions, who had produced the film based on her Hedda Gabler-based script.

At first she was shocked; she couldn't believe her eyes. Unfortunately the words that came tumbling out of her mouth were, "Please tell me we're not setting this story on a yacht, too!"

This elicited a hearty laugh from George, who reached forward to shake her hand, then pulled her into a friendly, warm hug, just as he had in the yoga class. "It is good to see you again," he said. "I'm sure you're surprised to see me."

"That's an understatement," Bridget said. "How…?" she began, then trailed off.

George explained that he had taken work with this studio after Greenlight had folded, and when they'd been offered her newest screenplay, he had lobbied heavily on her behalf. "I knew what a talent you have," he said, "and how stupidly we had squandered and diluted it in the movie we'd made of your other one."

"I can hardly believe it," she said. How had she not known he had been involved?

"Believe it," he said. "No one has yet been disappointed in following my recommendation. Now, come, let's get you shown around. But first, who've you brought with you? It's quite the entourage."

Bridget chuckled, introducing all of them in turn. If George thought it weird she had with her the man he knew as Bridget's partner as well as a man she identified as her children's father, he made no comment on it. After all, he probably saw much weirder things in Hollywood.

After Bridget met with the other executives and the creative team working on her screenplay's picture—which felt unreal, and probably the only way she didn't have a total nervous breakdown—they all had a tour of the studio lot, seeing where some of their favourite television shows were filmed. Tuesday was filled with excitement because they were slated to lunch with the actors cast to appear in the film. Mabel was immediately smitten and awed with the lead actress, Roxy Marshall, who seemed to warm hugely to Mabel too, especially after hearing what Mabel had been through with her health. By the end of the luncheon, as they ate their dessert, Mabel was perched on one of her knees, even though for anyone else Mabel would always claim to be too big now to sit on adults' laps. Bridget suspected she was willing to make exceptions for famous Hollywood actresses.

"Promise me that you'll keep in touch, okay?" Roxy asked, giving Mabel a hug as the lunch broke up. "Tell me all about how school is going. I'll give your mom my contact info for safe keeping."

Mabel beamed. "Okay."

The boys were enraptured with tales from the lead actor, Rob Watt, about when he was shooting his last picture, an action film, though it was clear that Matt seemed a bit smitten with Roxy, too; Bridget overheard Matt say something he seemed to immediately regret saying aloud.

"Mabel's got the best seat in the house."

Fortunately, the actress hadn't seemed to hear it—or if she had, she'd gracefully let it slide—but Scott evidently had; Matt and Scott both turned bright pink.

Now, Wednesday (and closer to Christmas than ever), they had just gotten home from the picture's script read-through and dinner. During the drive back to the house, Mabel and Billy had begun bickering irritably about who liked Roxy more. Fred then had begun to join in. Matt, who had been quiet all night, had helped to soothe their irritation; it was clear that the three younger kids were just overtired.

Mark took Billy and Mabel off to bed; Matt and Fred went to their respective rooms. "I think he just misses her," Scott said once they were alone.

It took her a moment to realise that he meant Matt missing Amber. "I bet," she said with a smile. They'd been dating since the summer, and Matt seemed to still be crazy about her. 

"You were right, you know," he said, taking her into an embrace.

"I usually am," she said smugly, "but what about now?"

"About Matt being a responsible young man," he said. "I'm sure he's… been intimate with Amber. He's handling it responsibly. You should take credit for a good deal of that. I probably would have been tempted to lock him in his bedroom until he was thirty."

She chuckled. "Don't sell yourself short. You're a great role model."

He looked a bit abashed. "Your influence cannot be overstated."

"Is that so?" she asked, waggling her brows.

"Speaking of bedroom," he began, the timbre of his voice dropping, "go say goodnight to the kids and Mark. I haven't had you alone for days."

She detected a little bit of desperation in his voice. She pecked a kiss on his lips. "All right."

### Sun, 25 Dec

The holiday was bound to be a strange one this year: spent in southern California, in relatively warm weather given that it was late December. Most of the large gifts for the children would be waiting under the tree at home. They had small, more portable gifts for them here from Father Christmas, and they had done up a tall, spiky indoor potted plant with a string of fairy lights in lieu of a proper Christmas tree.

"As Christmas goes," said Mark, "I think what we do have more than makes up for what we don't."

Bridget could only agree.

Due to the time difference, they'd already spoken to Sean and his family, and to Mark's parents and brother Peter. They were now speaking to Bridget's mum, brother Jamie, and honorary grandmother Una.

"Granny Pam, we didn't even do presents yet," said Mabel.

"Did you get mine?" said Pam.

"We left most of them for our return," Bridget cut in. "It didn't seem logical to haul it out here, then haul it back."

"Only have gifts from Father Christmas, it seems," Mark said.

"He knew where we are, you see," added Mabel. Bridget stifled a smile. She suspected her daughter was actually sceptical of the existence of Father Christmas, but maintained the illusion to her parents because it meant her gift haul was that much larger. Bridget was not about to press the matter; after all, she hardly minded being generous with her daughter.

Shortly afterwards, they ate their breakfast (the children at record pace) then went for the Christmas potted plant and for the gifts that waited for them there. "Father Christmas didn't want to make it hard to get them home," Scott explained. 

"I _love_ my new bracelet," announced Mabel, holding her left hand aloft. It was a charm bracelet with a London charm (Big Ben), a Paris charm (the Eiffel Tower), a Rome charm (the famous Coliseum), and a Los Angeles charm (the Hollywood sign). Bridget shot Mark a knowing look; she felt as smug as he looked. The bracelet had been her idea the previous spring, but Mark had picked up the extra two charms on business trips to France and Italy, and the Los Angeles one he'd snuck off to find during one of the lot visits.

"We can find something to add to it in San Francisco," said Bridget. "Like the famous bridge."

"The Golden Gate!" said Mabel. "I can't wait!"

"It is pretty cool, Mabes," said Billy, his eyes as wide as saucers, "but not as cool as this." He held up the gift he'd gotten, the latest in the Sony PlayStation line of hand-held gaming devices. "Whoa."

"Whoa!" echoed Fred, tearing at the paper. "I got one too!"

"Cool! We can play games together!"

Scott grinned. The pair of gaming system had been his idea for the boys.

Matt opened his own gift. His mouth dropped open in his surprise. "Wow." His gift was a lens kit for his phone; he had been interested in photography, and Bridget had seen examples of his work on Instagram. He had also talked about it on Twitter. "This is great," he said, holding up the box to read the text on all sides. "Really, really great. Thanks, Father Christmas." Matt looked up and gave Bridget a little wink. 

There were three gifts remaining under their festive tropical Christmas 'tree'. "Those must be for you and Daddy and Dah," said Mabel to Bridget. "I'll get 'em."

Bridget had indeed put gifts there for Mark and Scott to celebrate the anniversary of their living together as one big (if unusual) blended family, but had no idea what the third one was. Indeed, Mabel put one gift each before the three parents, two of equal size for Mark and Scott, and a third box meant for her. She truly had no idea what it might be.

"I just wanted to commemorate not only Christmas, but that we've been, you know, official for just a little over a year," she said, glancing between Scott and Mark. "December seems to be the month for making these sorts of commitments, for me. Twenty-one years ago, I was whisked off to a posh suite to get away from my mother's lumpy gravy and, oh, yeah, the whole thing with that Portuguese con-man, where I then heard the sweetest confession I've ever been privileged to hear… and three years ago I met one of the kindest men I've ever known, one who made me realise my life wasn't over because Mark was gone, and stood by me when he returned. I am doubly blessed. No, six-times blessed."

Mark leaned forward to offer her a pocket-square, and it was only then she realised she was crying. "You keep a pocket square in your pyjama top pocket?" she said, sniffling, then blowing her nose.

"I had a feeling you might want it," he said mysteriously. "Open your gift."

"You open yours first," she said.

So they did. They seemed confused by what it was they were seeing. "They're… watches," said Mark.

Scott only looked at her, then back at the box.

"They're smart watches," she said. "They can talk to each other, and to mine, which I've gotten for myself in Mark's name for all of the Christmases I was without you." She winked to him. "When you go running, they can record stats, like pace and heartbeat and time and stuff. I know you like a little bit of competition. And you can send little notes on them, to, you know, me or to each other."

She saw a little smile quirk at the corner of Mark's mouth, then a similar smile found Scott's.

"Those are really cool," said Billy. "If you don't want 'em…"

"No, no," said Mark. "I do."

"I got watchbands for them that I thought fit your personalities," she added. For Mark, who made frequent appearances in court and spoke regularly to law students at lectures, she thought a classic silver mesh would work best; for Scott, sports teacher to a gaggle of young boys, something sportier, sturdier and more protective would do, a band made of black polymer. "But if you don't like them, you can get another."

"No," said Mark, opening the package, holding the watchband up with his fingers. "This one is quite perfect."

She felt pretty proud of herself. "They're interchangeable so you can get more than one, swap them out for different occasions."

"Which band did you get for yourself?" Scott asked, putting the watch on.

"Oh, it's got scribbles on it, like calligraphy," she said. "I can go and get it if—"

"In a bit. You have a present to open," Mark reminded.

"Oh, right!"

She tore away the paper to find a beautiful box with a key pattern on its lid. She opened that to find an apparently seamless triangular box with gorgeous wooden inlay in Japanese patterns along each side. "What's this?" she asked, turning it over and over.

"I should think that's obvious," Mark said. "It's a puzzle box."

"Open it and get to the prize inside," added Scott.

Mabel giggled.

"Oh, do you know what's in there?" Bridget asked. She shook it.

"Yup. I mean, yes, Mummy."

She raised a brow, determined to open it without assistance. She pulled at the sides, prodded with a fingernail at what she thought might be the joins, but after only a couple of minutes she was about ready to toss it against the wall.

"Darling, it's really not that hard. Give it to me, I'll—"

"No," she said firmly. "I can do it myself."

"Billy did it in about thirty seconds," said Fred.

"That's not _help_ ful," said Bridget in an annoyed sing-song.

After a few minutes, during which she was getting more and more frustrated, Billy asked kindly to let him give her a hint.

She glared at him, then sighed, feeling defeated. "Here, just open it."

Billy began to push at the side, then pushed harder. His brows came together. "It's not opening."

"What?" asked Scott. He held out his hand. "Give it to me."

Billy handed it over. In very short order it became clear that Scott could not open it either. "Well, this is weird," he said.

"Ha!" said Bridget, feeling vindicated.

"I'll try it," said Mark.

Mark tried it, as did Matt and Fred. Mabel passed. "Obviously it's broken," she said. "Mummy could've opened it if it wasn't broken."

Mark said, "Might be the side's jammed with the… gift in it."

Scott rose. "If I had my multi-tool with me…" he began. "I'll go and get something from the kitchen."

Visions of slipping knives, fingers spurting blood, and a trip to A&E flashed through her head. "Scott," she said, warning in her tone. 

"I'm just going to get a butter knife and the meat tenderiser."

With a few taps of the knife on the seam with the improvised mallet, the box split apart on one side. "All right," he said, handing the box back to her. "Back to your real present."

She picked the walls of the box apart, to find something even smaller inside, wrapped in a small piece of red silk. She tugged at it, but it was stuck and it slipped from her grasp. "Ah, yes, the silk's gotten jammed in—"

She broke off when she saw what had come tumbling out onto her lap. She gasped as she picked it up. It was a ring, one that matched the bracelet she had previously been given, three metals interwoven into one band.

"Oh, my God. It's beautiful," she said, slipping it into place on her wedding finger, her original wedding band still on the chain around her neck, side by side with Scott's mother's locket. "So beautiful." Tears flowed down onto her cheeks, even as she sputtered a laugh. "I won't murder you, after all, for the irritating box."

"I _knew_ you'd love it, Mum," said Billy. "They love you just the same."

She looked to her son, emotion welling in her heart as tears welled in her eyes again; Billy had come a long way since his earlier uncertainty, convinced his father would leave again, or that Scott would go and take his sons with him. "And I love you all," she said, looking around the room to the happy faces. "There are you-shaped spaces in my heart that no one else could ever fill."

"Spaces in your heart?" asked Mabel. "Like holes?"

"It's a metaphor," said Billy.

Bridget was a little stunned—and impressed—that Billy knew what a metaphor was. "Indeed," she said. "Well done."

"Oh, it's time to call Sarah," said Matt.

Hugs and kisses to Mark and to Scott in appreciation of her new ring would have to wait, as the appointed time to call her was nearly upon them. The boys had recently helped their mother get set up on Skype, and they popped open the laptop in order to make the call. Matt and Fred got nearest, but the others gathered around, too; when they made the connection and Sarah's face filled the screen, she greeted all of the children without missing a beat. "And Mabel!" she said. "You look positively radiant! How much do you love being in California?"

"Lots and lots!" said Mabel.

"So… what have you been up to?"

At this prompt, Fred launched them into talking about everything they'd done, from the trip to the tar pits to the studio tour to lunch with the stars of the picture. Sarah looked more and more impressed, especially once she'd learned that they had met Roxy and Rob. "He's _such_ a handsome devil," said Sarah. "I'm deeply envious."

"He was so delightful," said Bridget. "So kind."

After the requisite round of goodbyes, the call was over, and the children went to investigate their respective toys. Bridget went to make another pot of coffee and perhaps have a pastry—chocolate croissants had in fact been obtained—and when she returned to see if either man wanted more coffee, too, she found them apparently sharing a joke.

"I hope it was just that the picture quality was bad," said Mark. 

"No, no, I think she really was that orange," laughed Scott quietly. "It seems to be a winter thing. Trying to project an aura of eternal summer."

Mark laughed. "I'm pretty sure that shade of orange as a skin tone is a human rights violation."

"I'm pretty sure my marriage to that woman was a human rights violation," Scott said drolly.

She retreated quietly, a smirk playing on her lips, as she absentmindedly touched the ring on her finger, then traced over the bracelet on her hand. She went back to the kitchen, poured three coffees, then brought them back to the sitting room.

It was a start as far as a thank-you went. 

"Thank you, darling," said Mark, accepting the fresh coffee. Scott had left the room. "Oh, delightful."

"My coffee-making abilities have improved by leaps and bounds." She sat down on the arm of the chair, then bent forward, slipped an arm around his shoulders, and kissed him on the head.

"What's that for?" he said.

"For the ring."

"It's really nothing," he said, putting his hand on her knee, squeezing gently.

"It's not," she said, then kissed him properly. 

"I just mean it's an infinitesimal token compared to the depth and breadth of what you mean to me," he murmured.

_Lovely man_ , she thought, stroking his hair. _Heart of a poet beats in that chest of his, though he'd never admit it_. "Where did Scott go?"

"Went to tend to a wailing Billy and Fred," he said. "They're frustrated that they can't make the game work."

"Matt would be a better bet for that."

"I think he's talking with Amber," said Mark. He slipped his hand along her waist, to rest on her hip, then tugged her off of the arm and into his lap. He pulled her close, holding her in a warm embrace. Quietly, he said, "Happy Christmas, darling."

"Happy Christmas, Mark," she murmured in return, resting her cheek against the collar of his pyjama top.

She must have dozed, for the next thing she knew she was opening her eyes to find Mark's arm cradling her up against him. "Oh," she said, raising up a little. "Sorry."

"I see I haven't lost my touch as a master seducer," he said wryly.

She chuckled, pecking a kiss on his lips. "Build-up to Christmas must have tired me out more than I thought."

"It's really all right," he said.

"Was I sleeping long?"

"Not too long," he said. "About ten minutes." 

She pushed herself forward; it was lovely and sunny outside, they were in California… when would they next get a chance to spend Christmas in a swimming pool, in the sun?

"Do you want to go have a proper lie down?" he asked.

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Is this the master seducer speaking?" she teased.

He smiled, waggled his brows. "Maybe. Why? Did you have other ideas?"

She then shared her plan, spending Christmas day in the pool before making dinner. He grinned. "I have to admit," he said, "that's a good idea."

The children, of course, would not have been parted from their gifts for anything else but a sunny, pool-side Californian Christmas. Mabel was in her one-piece in a flash, pouted when told she had to wait for the adults before she could go in. Once Bridget, Mark and Scott were clad in their swimming costumes, Mabel surprised them all by taking a running leap into the water, tucking her knees up, then cannonballing into the water.

After she surfaced, she sputtered and laughed like a maniac. "I always wanted to do that!"

Following her lead, the other children did the same; Scott surprised her by doing it too. Mark and Bridget only went wading into the shallow end, floating blissfully on their backs and gazing up into the pale blue sky. She felt him reach for her hand as they floated there, and she smiled, linking her fingers within his, taking in a deep breath then exhaling contentedly. The next day was bound to be hectic; it was awfully nice to relax and enjoy the perks of their holiday in this most perfect way.

"Master seducer," he murmured. She laughed lightly.

Rather than risk extended splashing by the more rambunctious of their party, she and Mark left the pool to take a seat in chaises at poolside, reclined in the shifting shadows of the trees that overhung the garden. Utter bliss as the breeze started to dry her hair, the peace and quiet, the love between the siblings. She loved seeing Mabel so exuberant, so full of life and energy and holding her own against her brothers as they horsed around in the water. And then there was Scott. Both he and Mark were still quite athletic, but there was something about sport-type activity like this, with the children, that Scott especially loved. And she loved watching him. He so obviously adored them all.

Scott then looked to them with furrowed brows, and called out, "What's the time?"

She reached for her mobile, startled by what it told her: "Half three."

"Time to start dinner prep," Scott said. "Come on, we're all on dinner duty. This includes you, minions." He pointed to the kids.

Mark rose to grab then distribute clean towels to the lot of them to dry off. As Scott then began to herd them inside, Mark called, "We'll tidy up out here, then be right in."

Once they had disappeared, Mark approached to take her hand, then take her in his arms for a long hug. "We'll get inside in a moment," he said quietly. "I just want one last cuddle."

"You'll get no argument from me." She turned her head, her nose brushing up against the skin on his neck— _In need of a shave_ , she thought idly. She inhaled then exhaled slowly. 

"I am never so content," he said quietly, "as I am when I'm with you."

She made a soft sound low in her throat, turned, then kissed his throat. "Master seducer."

He bent, gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then drew away, gesturing with his head that they should go inside. They gathered up all of the discarded towels and drinking glasses, carrying them all back into the kitchen, where the turkey breasts were already in roasting pans and Scott was salting and peppering them. He looked up with a grin, meeting Bridget's gaze, his grin softening to a smile as he did. Mabel was washing potatoes in the sink; Matt was chopping sprouts carefully from their stalk then setting them aside; Fred and Billy were fishing for baking sheets. "Time to get to work," said Scott. "Except for you, Bridget. You're off the hook."

"Me? Why?"

"We decided. I'm doing the turkey, Mark's doing the gravy," he said. "Everything else is taken care of." 

"Yes," confirmed Mark. "Whether gravy is stirred or sieved is none of your concern tonight."

Bridget felt rather at loose ends. "I feel like I ought to do _something_."

"You can, I don't know, uncork the wine bottle when it's time to eat."

"I'll start to pack," she said, then looked down to her bikini-clad body. "Well, I'll get dressed first."

Once she was back in the bedroom, Bridget slipped into a comfortable, casual dress, brushed out her unruly damp hair into a pony tail, then began packing her things into a bag. She was just putting the last of her clothes in (save the ones she planned on wearing the next day), she felt hands on her hips, a kiss pressed just near her ear. She knew instantly it was Scott.

"Turkey's in," he said. "Thought I'd come to help." He wrapped his arms around her, held her close. It was not helping, per se, but she didn't mind.

"I haven't started on your things yet," she said.

"It won't take a moment," he said, then spun her in his arms for a proper embrace. "It's been the best Christmas I've ever had, I think."

She couldn't disagree, then pecked a kiss on his cheek, then his lips. She felt it only proper to give him equal time in cuddles… and as she thought it, she thought again about his initial reaction to the word.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing important," she said. "Just thinking of cuddles."

He chuckled too. She didn't have to explain.

After they finished packing up most of Scott's things, Scott consulted the bedside clock and mentioned the timer was due to go off soon for a turkey check. They went back to join Christmas dinner preparation and were immediately greeted by the scent of roasting turkey. Bridget was immediately struck with pangs of hunger. Even though there were no active cooking tasks to do at the moment, all of them were hanging around in and near the kitchen, as if basking in the turkey scents; Matt was doing something on his phone (with the new lens attached), Billy and Fred were playing on their game systems, Mark was apparently configuring his new watch to talk to his phone, and Mabel was poring over a cookery book.

"That smells _wonderful_ ," she said. "Well done, all of you."

"Thank Mabel," said Mark, gesturing towards the girl, not looking up from the watch face right away. "She's quite the little taskmaster. Oh, pardon me. Task _mistress_." He then glanced up. "Did you get everything packed?"

"My things and his things, anyway," she said, touching Scott's shoulder affectionately. "How's it going with the watch?"

"Good," he said. "Where's yours? Matt showed me what to do to set it up."

She'd almost forgotten. "I'll get it."

"And your mobile."

"Yes, sir," she called back.

When she returned Mabel was lecturing them that they would have to turn the sprouts soon. "There's only ten minutes left on the timer," she said.

"It's all right, darling," said Mark. "Not everything has to finish cooking precisely at the same time."

"And we have to put in the croissants too."

Bridget brought her brows together. "Croissants?"

"Show your mother, Mabel," said Mark. 

Mabel went and pulled out a little tube from the refrigerator. Inside was something called 'crescent rolls', aka croissants, only savoury.

"For dinner?" she said; suddenly the idea seemed very appealing. "Oooh."

"Why don't you do the crescent rolls since you've already got the sheets ready," said Scott, gesturing for Mabel to hand the tube to Billy, "and I'll take care of the sprouts. Mark, you're going to be on gravy duty soon."

"It won't take any time at all to get the watch configured," said Mark.

"I trust it'll be perfect," said Bridget. "Both of them."

Dinner came together as smoothly as silk, and the turkey, jacket potatoes, Brussels sprouts along with Mark's magnificent gravy—"Did I sieve or stir? I'll never tell," he said stoically—was a triumph. Before they ate, though, Matt set up his phone with the new lens attached and took a portrait of the whole family with dinner at the table.

"That's made of _fish eyes_?" Mabel asked, slightly horrified.

"No," Matt said with a laugh. "It's just called a fisheye lens."

"Let me see the picture," said Bridget. "Please," she added, feeling the weight of scrutiny on her from them. Matt handed his phone over to her, and as she looked at them on the screen—slightly distorted due to the lens effect—she felt her eyes began to mist over. The photo was a wonderful, spontaneous, joyful one.

"Is it that bad?" Matt joked.

"No, no," she said. "Quite the opposite. We'll have to have this printed and framed. It's wonderful. We all look so happy." She handed the phone back to him.

"I'll send it to you," Matt said. "And to you and you." He tipped his head towards his father and Mark in turn.

"And me?" asked Fred.

"Sorry," he said. "I keep forgetting you have a mobile now, too." Bridget wasn't sure how Matt could have forgotten, with the hell Billy raised when he didn't get one too. Billy offered a pout at the mere mention of the mobile, but she was unmoved; Billy was only ten, after all.

"Can I see?" Mabel asked. "Please?"

"Of course." He finished sending the image, and then handed the phone to Mabel for her and Billy to see it.

"My face looks weird," said Billy. "A bit stretched out."

"It's just the way the lens captured it," Bridget said. "It's not weird. In fact, if it wasn't stretched out, that would be weird, because it would mean your face was normally too squooshed."

Billy offered a little smile. "I suppose…"

"Come now. Eat up, all of you," said Scott suddenly. "We can't have anything left over. We leave to go north in the morning."

Bridget laughed. He sounded like something out of _Lord of the Rings_. "Sorry," she muttered. "Sorry. The way you said that…"

"It did rather sound like Aragorn," Mark said with a smirk.

They did leave very little food behind, and what remained they planned to eat before they left for the airport in the morning. It was surprisingly easy to get Billy and Mabel to sleep given the excitement of seeing a new city (and seeing Auntie Shazzer again), but the outdoor activity coupled with excitement of Christmas day itself was too much and they were out before nine in the evening. It was easy enough to pack up their things before they did. Matt and Fred were old enough to pack their own bags.

"I can, of course, take care of mine," said Mark. "Go on to sleep."

She nodded, then pecked a kiss on his lips. "Good night," she said, placing her hand flat against his cheek lovingly before turning to go to the other bedroom.

"Your sponge bag is already pretty much ready to go, too," Scott said as he started to inventory his shaving kit.

"Leave it to the morning," she said. "I want to go to bed."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, closing the kit.

They washed up then slipped beneath the covers, snuggling up to each other. She felt the weight of the holiday catching up to her, making her eyelids heavy with fatigue. However, with the feel of his lips on her shoulder then neck, she began to revitalise; she turned over to give him a proper kiss, and in return his hands ran down over her body. She surrendered to the loving caresses.

Afterwards, curled securely in his arms, she sighed, feeling herself drifting off to sleep, thinking of the days since she and Mark had had the chance to be intimate. "Poor Mark, though," she murmured.

Scott began to chuckle. " _That's_ what you're thinking of _now_?" he teased.

"Oh, no, sorry," she said, flushing red with embarrassment, though he hardly could have seen it; she was glad he could laugh about it, though. "I just meant… well, never mind."

"Ah," he said; he seemed to know, though, as he added, "Well, he'll get his chance soon enough, I'm sure."

"I'm a lucky girl," she whispered, contented sleepiness starting to wash over her again. _Least of which_ , she thought, _two extraordinary men without the slightest hint of slowing down_.


	6. Boxing Day Barbecue

### Mon, 26 Dec

They made it to the airport with time to spare to turn in the rental vehicle. After only about an hour or so in the air they landed in San Jose, emerging to the cool morning air. They had arranged for another vehicle similar to the one that had been using in Los Angeles, only a bright blue.

"It's like the TARDIS," said Fred.

"Bigger on the inside," added Billy.

Bridget laughed. "Let's load it up and move on out."

"Giddy-up, let's go," Mark said drolly.

They'd gotten directions from Shazzer on how to get to their home, just outside a town further south called Los Gatos. What they hadn't quite understood was that it was in the foothills of the mountain, and the drive on the curving road made Bridget look forward to reaching the house for a cocktail, if nothing else. Upon arrival, though, she couldn't help gasping; the house was secluded and surrounded by trees, and, as best she could tell, afforded an amazing view of the valley below.

"Now I see why she's loath to leave," said Mark, his eyes scanning the landscape. There was a slight incline to the ground, such that they'd actually have to walk down to the house as opposed to up. "It's absolutely gorgeous here."

"It's like that elven glade in _Lord of the Rings_ ," Bridget said. "To carry on with the theme from last night."

"Rivendell," supplied Scott.

"We may have watched those films one too many times," offered Matt.

"Or read the books," said Scott.

"Hey! You found it!"

They turned their heads at once to see Shazzer coming up the path from the house, big grin in place. Mabel snapped out of the spell the scenery had had over her, and shouted out in return, "Auntie Shazzie!" She then went running down to meet her.

"Maybelline!" she shrieked, then opened her arms to embrace her, kissing her on the top of her head. Bridget grinned; Tom had recently taken to calling Mabel with a similar diminutive to the one he called Bridget. Clearly Shaz and Tom had used the term when chatting about her. "How was your week? Your Christmas? Oh, hold that thought. Let me help with the bags. Ryan has to work—Boxing Day not a holiday here, sadly—but he'll be around for dinner."

"Can't we just roll our baggage down the side of the hill?" joked Scott.

"We're not _that_ steep," Shazzer teased.

Everyone got to carry a little something, and it struck Bridget that they were rather like the Fellowship of the Ring arriving to Rivendell, which made her giggle. Mark shot her a curious look; she pointed to their son and said simply, "Bilbo."

A broad grin spread across his face, then he laughed lightly. He clearly understood her train of thought. He pointed to himself with a thumb. "Gandalf?"

She pulled a face, but then winked.

Once inside the house, she led them directly upstairs. Shaz said, pointing at a series of doors, "First things first: your rooms. Boys, I had to put you together. Billy, Matty and Freddy—" Shaz was apparently the only one beside Mabel who could call them that and get away with it. "—are in the far room. Ms Maybelline, you're there. There's the guest loo—pardon me, the _bathroom_ —centrally located for your convenience. Go on in, unpack." 

"A room by myself? Where will you be, Auntie Shazzie?" Mabel asked.

"Ooo, my darling, let me show you," she said excitedly, reaching for Mabel's hand. "Come this way." She looked to Bridget, gesturing towards two doors to the right of the bathroom. "Those rooms… however you want to arrange yourselves." She waggled her brows, winked, then led Mabel off around to the other side of the second floor and through a double door; the master suite, she suspected. She smiled.

"I'll take the room nearest the loo," said Scott, implying that she could put her things in with Mark. She smiled. Scott had always felt a bit uncertain about remaining in the master suite once Mark had come to live, but Mark had insisted that preferred the quiet and privacy of his room and his home office together in the refurbished upper floor. He had joked he sort of liked being the mad spouse in the attic. Besides, Bridget stayed with him often enough, had some of her things in his room.

"I want to see that master suite," said Bridget, dropping her bag down and following the path that Shazzer had taken Mabel through the set of open doors. She was overwhelmed by the size of the suite; the king-sized bed was dwarfed, surrounded by plush rugs, furniture, and even a fireplace. A broad expanse of windows afforded a view of the greenery and the valley beyond; French doors led to a balcony. The total effect was utterly breath-taking. She knocked to announce her presence, calling, "It's just me."

"We're in the en suite," called back Shazzer.

She wandered in to see Shazzer and Mabel sitting on the edge of the very large spa tub. "Shaz," Bridget said, "this suite is larger than my flat in Borough Market was."

"I know, right?" she said, turning with a grin. "Just ask, if you want to use this thing. It's amazing."

"I do!" said Mabel. 

"I was thinking of your mummy having a bath," said Shazzer. "If you want a soak, we have a hot tub, too."

"I think this might be heaven," said Bridget.

They returned to the master suite to see Mark standing at the door, gazing out of the window with a nostalgic expression on his face. "Just thinking," he said without prompt, "of our tree house minibreak."

She thought briefly of their trip so many years ago, the minibreak to the Santa Cruz mountains when Mark had been working in Los Angeles, and she laughed. He came forward and slipped an arm around her, kissing her on the temple. "So glad I didn't in fact fall out of the tree."

Mabel only furrowed her brow. "You almost fell out of a tree with Daddy, too?"

Bridget had no idea to what Mabel referred, but then remembered the tree rescue with Scott, or, as he was to her at the time, Mr Wallaker. She began to chuckle. "Yes, I guess I did," Bridget said. "It seems to be a bad habit of mine." At Mark's puzzled look, she explained how she'd been rescued in attempting to rescue Billy and Mabel in turn.

"You should just stay away from trees in general," he mused.

"Thank goodness we're not actually in a tree," said Shaz. "Though Bridge, if you go out onto the balcony, for fuck's sake, be careful." She then clamped her hand over her mouth. "Sorry. Mabel, I didn't say that."

"It's okay, Auntie Shazzie. I already know it's your favourite word."

It took herculean levels of restraint on the part of all adults present not to laugh out loud.

"Wow, Aunt Shaz, this is your _bedroom_?"

Billy was now at the door, agape at the bedroom. Behind him were Fred and Matt. "Yup."

"Now I know where they get that from," quipped Mark.

"Be thankful," she said quietly, "it's _that_ and not the other word."

"Well, boys, come on in and get a good look," said Shaz. "You too, Scott."

They came in and scattered to the fireplace, the windows, the en suite. "This is a beautiful house," Scott said. 

"Yours isn't anything to sniff at, either," she said. "We have a sprawling pancake. Yours is a magnificent layer cake."

"The attic's just gorgeous now since the redo," Bridget said. "And we updated all of the wiring and plumbing."

"Even better than before, then," Shaz said. "I'll have to make the trip back in the spring or something. I haven't been in far too long."

"Sharon?" called a voice from below. "Have your friends arrived yet?"

"Ah, that's Ryan, emerging from the office to catch a glimpse of the sunlight," Shaz said. Bridget realised he must have been working from home. She went to the door, calling down, "Yup, was just settling them in upstairs." She turned back. "How about a tour of the rest of the house? Vital, I think, to know where the kitchen is."

"I'm sure we'd love that," said Bridget. "And to say hello to Ryan."

Since Shaz had moved to the States shortly after the wedding, she had only seen Ryan a handful of times since the wedding. She thought about the last time she'd seen him, and it had to be the New Year's just after her first anniversary with Scott that she'd seen him last. He looked thinner, fitter than she remembered; perhaps that could be attributed to a revised fitness regime. More importantly, he looked happy, and still looked to her friend with hearts floating in his eyes. 

"So good to see you again," he said, taking Bridget into his arms for a friendly hug. "You look _fantastic_."

Bridget blushed. "Thanks. You look pretty good yourself."

Ryan pulled back, then smiled and extended his hand. "Mark, my friend. It is especially good to see you." Mark surprised them all by pulling his old client from chambers into a hug.

"Likewise," he said. "I think the last time I actually saw you was… your wedding." Mark whistled. "Summer of 2000. That _was_ a long time ago."

Ryan chuckled. "Yes… yes it was." He turned to Scott, offering a grin. "And it is _great_ to see you, too, Scott. How have you been?"

"Pretty well," he said, shaking the proffered hand. "No complaints."

Then Ryan turned to the children. "My, how you have all grown since I saw you last… especially you, Mabel. My goodness. How have you been feeling?"

"I'm doing really good," she said. "I have another check-up when we get back."

"I am so glad to hear," he said. "Well. Are you ready for some lunch? I have a con call at 1:30 but I've certainly got time to fire up the grill."

Bridget glanced to her watch; the day had already been long, and it wasn't even noon yet. "That sounds fantastic," she said.

"A little wine?" asked Shaz, nudging Bridget in the side.

"Oh, yes, _please_ ," Bridget said.

There was a grill built into the hob— _A thing of wonder_ , Bridget thought, noticing how covetous Scott's gaze was regarding the kitchen in general—and before long Ryan had cooked a stack of burgers and franks. Shaz pulled out bags of crisps and a vast tub of coleslaw, and before long their plates were loaded up and they were all eating ravenously around the kitchen table.

"It's just like a summer barbecue," said Billy, "but it's _December_!"

"A Boxing Day barbecue," said Scott thoughtfully. "Not common outside of the southern hemisphere, I suspect."

"I might have planned just for that," said Shaz. "It's supposed to rain today so I thought it best we do it inside."

"Excellent plan," said Bridget.

Once they finished, Sharon took them around the rest of the house, which was just as gorgeous and airy as the bedrooms and kitchen. There was a spacious sitting room with entertainment centre; of course Bridget found the Blu-Ray disc of their favourite miniseries. In the sitting room sat a proper decked-out Christmas tree, with gifts beneath it.

"Oh, why don't we do our gift exchange?" suggested Sharon.

"Yes!" said Mabel.

"I'll go and get them," said Scott, leaving them momentarily. Billy got up to follow.

"I'll help, okay?" he said as they left the room together.

"I really should get back to my office for the meeting," he said. "Sorry. I'll see you for dinner." He held up his hand to wave goodbye, then left the room, too.

There was plenty of seating in the large room, and once everyone had settled down, Shaz went and gathered up gifts then began distributing them. "I tried to keep 'em small because you've got enough to haul back to London," she said.

The boxes she doled out were fairly small, identically sized for children and adults alike, as well as gift bags of candy—Reese's Pieces, which were an instant hit—in lieu of actual stockings. Scott and Billy returned with their own gifts for Shazzer and Ryan, and brought them directly to her. 

"Ooh," she said. "Thanks! You all go first, at the same time."

Curious, she tore at the paper, discovering very quickly that the reason Shaz wanted them to go at once was because their gifts were identical, save for personalisation: a small in form but high capacity portable music device. Bridget realised that this product was something Ryan's company produced. She was touched that she'd had them all printed with their individual names.

"I know most people just put music on their phones these days," explained Shaz, "but I've found that I can't live without mine. It's so unobtrusive… and this is the newest model, just out in time for Christmas. I think it's even smaller than mine."

The boys always loved new gadgets—adults and children alike—but Mabel seemed especially excited by this gift. She hadn't had her own music player before. "Thank you!" she gushed.

"You are welcome, my precious," said Shazzer in an oddly uncharacteristic cooing tone. 

"Now open yours!" Mabel said excitedly.

"All right, babe, chill." She looked to Bridget. "Any particular order?"

"That boxy one first," Bridget said. "Then the lightest one. Then the smallest one."

Shaz raised a brow. "All right then."

The first box made Shaz laugh and clutch it to her chest. "Actual Milk Tray! Oh I haven't had this in eons. _And_ chocolate liqueurs?"

"Oh, those are for Ryan."

"Fortunately, he'll share," she grinned. "Thank you."

"There are your stockings sorted," said Bridget. "Keep going. The next one's from the children. It was Mabel's idea."

She tore away the paper to find a pair of hand-sewn bolster pillows; one was embroidered with the Union Jack, and the other with the American flag. "Oh, these are great," said Shaz. "These will look fantastic on the sofa right there. Ryan's going to dig these."

Then she turned to the smallest of the items. After tearing away the paper, then getting into the protective box, she gasped as she pulled the frame out to examine the artwork within. "Oh my word, this is beautiful," she said; her eyes flooded with tears as they scanned the watercolour painting of the neighbourhood in which she had lived in London for so many years. "My old stomping grounds. Who did this? You?"

"Oh, crikey, no," Bridget said. "Do you remember Gav?"

"'You're all squashy' Gav?" Shaz asked, howling; Bridget turned flaming red. "Oh my God, _he_ painted this?"

"He's developed quite the talent for more traditional painting."

"Ah," she said. "Well, that's a shame; I didn't mind the pe—the other art he did."

Bridget was very grateful she hadn't completed that word.

"This is really very thoughtful," continued Shaz. "I can't wait to find a spot to hang it." She nodded to the second, similarly sized box. "What'd you get him to paint for Ryan?"

"Not a painting," said Bridget. "Pulled a few strings to get him something from that sci-fi show he loves so much."

Shaz snorted a laugh. "Which one?"

"Blake's 7," Bridget said.

"Oh my God, he'll love you forever," said Shaz. "So what is it?"

"A signed cast photo."

"Get. Out," she said. "I think you just trumped _my_ gift to him." She was grinning, though. "He'll be very pleased. He's fond of you already; this will cement it."

Bridget felt very smug. "We're very fond of him too," she said.

"So you're very far away from home, but I hope you've had a nice Christmas and Boxing Day, all the same," said Shaz.

"We still have gifts at home," said Billy.

"The only thing we missed having are Christmas crackers," said Mabel.

"Aw, did you?" Shaz said. "Hm." She got to her feet, went back to where the tree sat, and reached behind it for a decorative bag. She reached into it and pulled out a handful of crackers. "Are you sure, Maybelline?"

She squealed and held out her hands in time to catch the one that Shaz tossed her way. "Billster," said Shaz, tossing another. "Heads up! Matty! Freddy! Bridgeline!"

"No!" said Bridget, and laughed as the cracker hit her on the head and bounced off.

"You all right?"

"No serious damage done," she said; it was just paper and light cardboard, after all.

"No comment," said Shaz. "Mark! Scott!"

Within a few moments they opened their crackers, paper crowns adorning their heads. Everyone read their silly jokes aloud, eliciting giggles from the younger three children, who acted half-drunk on the sugar from the candy they'd eaten. Before long, Mabel, Billy, and Fred were crashing to sleep on the sofa near the tree. Matt, as had been his habit when they were relaxing, was on his mobile, probably messaging Amber.

"This," said Bridget, leaning back, "has been one of the more satisfying Boxing Days of recent history."

"I would have to agree," Mark said; she realised that it was not against the couch cushion but against him that she was resting. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes; he put his arm around her shoulders. The day suddenly seemed to have been weeks long, and it felt good to recline like this. To stretch out a little more comfortably, she lifted her feet up to stretch them out, placing her feet in Scott's lap. To her delight he began to push his thumbs into the arches of her feet, which still ached from travelling.

She was so warm and comfortable that she could not resist drifting off into a cloud of contentedness, a haze of warm fuzzy feeling. Mark holding her close, cradling her in his arm, his chin against her head; Scott working the stiffness and aches out of her feet… she smiled and, as a sort of joke, she began to trill low in her throat, like the purr of a cat. She heard and felt Mark's chuckle, saw Scott chuckling, too.

"My, my," said Shaz teasingly. "Now _that_ is the life, Bridge."

Bridget giggled, instantly thinking of Rebecca's 'stable' comment. After the trials she'd faced—notably, thinking her beloved husband was dead for seven years, and her daughter facing leukaemia—she deserved every foot rub she got. 

"So I thought the rest of today we wouldn't do anything but loaf about," said Shaz. "We've got eggnog and loads of Christmas sugar cookies."

"What, have you taken up baking?" Bridget asked, her question punctuated by little sounds of pleasure as Scott massaged her feet.

"Oh, fuck no," said Shaz. "I bought 'em."

"Sharon," hissed Bridget.

"Mabel's sleeping," said Shaz. "Plus she already knows it's my favourite word." She winked. "Hope you've decided what you want to do while you're here."

"I have a pretty good idea," she said. "Not thinking about anything but this right now. Mmm." She half-wished Mark would start giving her a neck rub, but didn't want to push her luck… plus she was enjoying snuggling with him far too much.

It was decided that they would start by taking a trip north into San Francisco, see all of the tourist sites and even take a drive over the Golden Gate Bridge. Mabel, having woken after her sugar crash, added that she wanted a charm to add to her bracelet.

"Of course," said Shaz. "We must find one for you. I know exactly where we can go."

Since the day would start early, they decided it was a good idea to get to bed early. Once the children were in bed—or at least in their rooms, in the case of Matt and his love of goofing around online—the adults decided to relax in the hot tub. "Usually we soak in the buff," Shaz confided. "We'll spare you the indignity tonight. Do you need a swimsuit?"

"No, we have ours."

"Meet you down there in five."

The only weirdness on her part was having only packed a bikini, in which she felt perfectly comfortable in front of Mark and Scott, but felt a little awkward in front of Ryan. She came down wearing a tee-shirt, but Shaz told her to stop being ridiculous. "Plus, he'll be more concerned about clogging up the filters with cotton fibre from the shirt than ogling you," she said.

The soak turned out to be exactly what Bridget needed, and being in Shaz and Ryan's company was like being with friends they had all known for years. After the first minute or two, she knew she had been ridiculous as Shaz had accused her of being. Her muscles felt like jelly as she padded back up to the bedroom. She gave Scott a kiss goodnight, then retired to the room she was sharing with Mark.

"I do wish we had one of those at home," she said wistfully, closing the door behind herself. "I feel a bit boneless."

Mark offered an impish smirk. "Need help staying upright?" he asked.

"I have no intention of remaining upright any longer than normal," she said.

He came near to her, took her into his arms; clad only in his trunks, his skin was cool from the outside air, as she was sure her own was. "Let's just be safe," he said, holding her close. "So," Mark murmured, "who's 'squashy' Gav?"

She chuckled. "Gav was this whippersnapper I had one date with," she said, "to boost my ego after Daniel chucked me. Well, he was supposed to be boosting my ego, but he commented that I was all squashy. Deflated that ego like a bad soufflé."

She felt him pull on the bikini tie to undo her top. "Naughty Gav," he murmured, kissing her just by the ear, running his fingers down the length of her spine. "Undoubtedly meant as a compliment—I mean, you are soft in all the right ways—but his technique in conveying this left so much to be desired, didn't it?"

"Lucky for you it didn't work out," she quipped, putting her arms up around his neck, then reared her head back to kiss him.

### Tue, 27 Dec

"Did you know that Uncle Tom used to live here, in San Francisco?" Shazzer asked Mabel.

They had put the minivan into a parking structure, and after a jaunt around the tourist haunt Pier 39—it was chillier than it had been in the South Bay, so the first order of business was to buy some sweatshirts to put on beneath their jackets—and an amazing seafood lunch, they were strolling towards Ghirardelli Square.

"Yup," Mabel said; Bridget cringed at this bad habit reasserting itself. "He talks about it a lot, his fun times and disco dancing before he came back and met Arkis."

Bridget suppressed laughter and at the same time harboured a slight horror over exactly what tales Tom had told her innocent little daughter. She made a point to remember to ask him.

"Dad," asked Billy, "did you ever visit San Francisco when you lived in Washington?"

"I didn't," Mark said, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other around his son's shoulders as they crossed the street. "It wasn't in my best interest to draw attention to myself by flying, and they're just too far apart for driving or even a train. Living in England, we really have no concept of a single country this large."

"Isn't there a Washington near here, though?" asked Bridget.

"There is a Washington state here on the west coast," he said. "Washington DC, the US capital, is on the east coast."

"Oh," said Bridget. "Well… geography has never really been my strong suit."

Mark chuckled. "True enough."

Naturally they stopped for some hot drinking chocolate to take away the chill. Mabel was entranced by the mermaid statue. "That one's holding a baby mermaid!" Mabel said. "What's the other one doing?"

Mabel looked between them all; none seemed to have any good idea. 

"Obviously," said Bridget, "she's saving one frog from a tree or a rock or something, and is going to reunite it after weeks apart by placing it on the lily pad with the other frog. They're long-lost sweethearts."

"Ooh," said Mabel wistfully. "Do they sell charms of her?"

"Why don't we find out?" 

"Looks to me," said Scott, "like she's got a plate of frogs and is about to eat the next to last one."

"She rather does, doesn't she?" said Mark.

"Eww, you're gross," Mabel said; Billy laughed.

"Yes, you are," said Bridget, though she was grinning. 

"And you're an absolute mad little romantic," said Scott, obviously teasing.

"And thank goodness for it," added Mark quickly.

"I'm not little," Bridget grumbled, rather hurting her own case by looking up at Scott and Mark.

"We could swing you over a puddle, darling," said Mark.

She pursed her lips. Shazzer just cackled with laughter.

They did find a shop that sold charms, found a mermaid for her bracelet, which left Mabel floating with happiness. It wasn't the mermaid from the fountain, but it didn't seem to matter much to her. She kept holding it between her fingers and smiling fondly for the rest of the day.

Having walked themselves out for a while, they returned to the minivan then drove over the Golden Gate Bridge, parking just over the bridge in Sausalito at a vista point to take in the view, which was magnificent. She took in a deep breath, then exhaled. Everything was good. Better than good. Perfect, in fact. 

Her brain couldn't help wonder when it would all go to hell.

"Penny for your thoughts."

She turned to look at Mark and Scott, who both stood by her with slight expressions of concern. Her hair was blowing all around her; she was sure she looked a fright. No wonder they were concerned. "It's nothing," she said, trying to effect a light tone.

They said nothing, only gazed at her intensely. She didn't stand a chance against one such penetrating gaze, let alone two.

She sighed. "Fine," she said. She glanced to where Shaz, bless her, was supervising Billy, Mabel, and Fred; Matt was checking messages again. Bridget then looked back to the men she loved and explained about what she had just been thinking.

"No need to be such a fatalist," said Scott gently. 

"Though—no offense, darling—it's a very _you_ thing to think," Mark said. "Waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Can you blame me?" she said sheepishly. "The last time everything was perfect…" She trailed off, looking to Mark. "Sorry. That's not a recrimination."

"It's all right," Mark said, coming close enough to put an arm around her shoulders, planting a kiss on her temple. She knew he was not just saying it to make her feel better. Scott, on her opposite side, also put an arm around her, across her back. Their reassurance helped, and she stood there and basked in it (and their warmth) for many moments.

"Mummee! Matt loves his mobile more than us!"

She laughed, pulling away to look at Mabel, who stood there pouting. Matt was just grinning broadly, trying hard not to laugh. 

"Mabes, you know that's not true," he said.

"But you're talking to Amber all of the time…"

At this, Matt typed in one last message, put his mobile into his pocket, then crouched a little to put his arms around her for a tight, quick hug. "I'm sorry. You're right. It's inconsiderate of me."

"I forgive you," she said magnanimously, happy spirits restored.

"Come on," called Shaz. "Other things to see today. We can drive a little further north and see the rainbow tunnel. And you still wanted to see crazy Lombard Street, yeah?"

"I'm not sure I'm up to actually driving it," said Mark. "I saw photos. Made me motion sick just to look at the photo."

"We can drive past the bottom and gawp," said Shaz.

"All right, you lot," said Scott, donning his sports teacher mantle. "Back to the van." He began walking, herding the four children in the vehicle's general direction; Shaz took hold of Mabel's hand affectionately as they walked.

She looked up to see Mark was watching them too. Without looking to her, he murmured, "'And miles to go before I sleep.'"

"'And miles to go before I sleep,'" she repeated, finishing the poem, slipping her arm around his waist once again as they walked forward.


	7. All Good Things…

### Sat, 7 Jan 2017

All good things must come to an end, and so too did their holiday in California; parting from Shazzer resulted in many floods of tears lasting halfway through the trip home, with Shaz and Ryan promising to visit London soon. "If that house of yours can support the load of two more people," she had teased.

"Honestly," Bridget had replied, "what's two more?"

Not that they were returning to anything less than lovely. There was some grumbling about the return to school after the winter break, but deep down Mark knew the children loved learning, even if they didn't love some of the assignments so much.

It was a rare Saturday afternoon that both Mark and Scott were home and Bridget and the children were not. The quiet was a welcome respite before Mabel's ninth birthday party the next day, and Mark decided to browse for something to read for pleasure for a change.

As he browsed the copious bookshelves in the library, it was the title that caught his eye and made him smile: _French Children Don't Throw Food_. Mark plucked it from the shelf and wondered what the story was behind this book finding its way into the house. He decided to give it a try.

He didn't get far in, however, when a slip of paper came fluttering out; a scrap, he thought, used idly for a bookmark. Upon closer inspection he realised it had a notation scribbled on it: @JoneseyBJ. He had a moment of idle curiosity as to what it could mean—perhaps a password, as she was always jotting them down and forgetting about them—but then found the book so interesting it quickly slipped from his mind.

"Hey, Mark, sorry to—What's that?"

It was Scott, who'd come into the room and spotted the paper unfolded on the table at his elbow.

"Found it in this book." He held it up for a moment so that Scott could see the front. "Guessed it was one of Bridget's."

"You guessed right."

"No idea what that's supposed to be."

Scott didn't reply; Mark glanced up to clearly see the wheels of thought turning furiously. "I think I do," murmured Scott. "Matt has been online long enough for me to recognise a Twitter handle when I see one."

Mark's brows shot up. He was intrigued—and she, after all, had never explicitly forbidden them from reading it, just that they'd never find her on there. 

"Come on," he said, rising decisively.

"Where are you going?"

"To get my laptop and specs. Go and grab yours."

Mark returned and shortly the two of them, reading specs perched on respective noses, were navigating via browser to her Twitter account; it was evident within moments that it was indeed her. The fact that she had not tweeted since late September of 2013 was instantly obvious, though a quick check of "Tweets & Replies" showed that she had continued corresponding beyond then with a handful of people by replying to a previous message. The one she seemed to interact with the most was someone called @_Roxster. 

The further back they read, the more intrigued they became. It was soon very clear that she and this Roxster were more than just flirtatious; they had met for at least one date. Mark wondered if they had actually been a couple.

"This is the man," Scott said, as if putting two and two together, as if reading Mark's thoughts, "that I saw proposing to her in the park."

This statement rocked Mark back on his proverbial heels. "Proposing?"

"She didn't accept, obviously," Scott said, then chuckled. "You've gone white as a sheet."

"I… Jeremy never told me about him. I never knew there was anyone else that serious."

"She doesn't talk much about him," Scott said. "They were only together for a few months, and I think the kids only met him once."

Mark noticed a familiar name within the Twitter conversation: Talitha. He wondered how much she could tell him… and then he admonished himself for thinking like that when he should just ask Bridget.

"Go over there, to that section."

Mark clicked over to where it said "Photos and Videos." While they had been browsing old correspondence a new photo had been posted: 

"Greetings from gorgeous, sunny Thailand!"

The caption made Mark laugh out loud, but then he saw the photo and felt about two-hundred years old; this man was a slim, tanned, well-muscled, fit, thirty-something clad only in swimming briefs and sunglasses. He had thick, dark hair and a broad smile, which was very attractive, revealing a small gap between his front teeth.

"Well," murmured Scott.

"Well," repeated Mark.

"Oh my God, that's Roxster."

They did not need to turn around to know it was a very surprised Bridget.

"How?" she asked. "How did you find him—I mean me?"

Mark turned to face her now; she had gone deep crimson. " _French Children Don't Throw Food_ ," he said.

She stared at if he had just begun spouting gibberish for a moment, until the penny dropped. "Oh," she said, covering her face with her hands. "I think I was reading that when I signed up for Twitter. I'm sorry—I was trying to get back into the swing of dating. I was so outrageously flirty."

"You looked like you were having fun," said Scott, a smile playing on his lips.

Mark pointed to the screen. "Good-looking fellow," he said. "And obviously pretty sharp. He knew to go to Thailand in January and not during the rainy season."

She stood and stared at him, her mouth dropped open, before she came forward to playfully swat at his shoulder. "You can be a beast, you know," she said, laughing.

"I know the feeling," said Scott. "I was trying to flirt outrageously with you, but I was so out of practice…"

"Aww," she said, reaching to him, pulling him into a hug as he sat, her hand in his hair, gently stroking. "I guess sometimes I do need more overt hints."

"Sometimes?" Mark said with a chuckle. "Do you not remember my parents' Ruby Wedding? That first night in Hintlesham Hall?"

She brought her free hand up to run her fingers over his hair too. "What can I possibly say to refute that?" she asked. "When you're right, you're right."

After a moment, Scott said, "Still not sure how you could have gone out with him. Not very cautious to accept a date from a stranger online…"

She laughed a little. "I did consider the possibility that he might scatter my dismembered remains in the countryside," she said. "I took precautions, don't worry. I had two precious babies to consider."

"Talitha," said Mark suddenly, recalling the conversation he'd seen.

"Yes," she said. "She knew him. He found me on Twitter through her."

"That makes me feel slightly better," Mark said. "Maybe you could set up an introduction sometimes."

"You're funny," said Bridget.

"Ooh, Mummy, isn't that the man who tried to burn the kitchen down?"

"Mabel, he didn't," Bridget said, exasperated, as Mark and Scott began to laugh. "He didn't," she repeated. "It was my fault, not his. We just had a little mishap with sausages, that's all."

"And the spaghetti," added Mabel.

"You'll forgive me," said Mark with a laugh, "if I express how not surprised I am."

"I can't believe you remember that," Bridget muttered to her daughter.

"I expect it was pretty memorable to her," Scott said, laughing too. 

"Why's everyone in here?" Billy. "What are you doing? Who's that? Ohhh, that's Roxster, the burnt sausage guy."

"He did _not_ burn the sausage," said Bridget tersely, then took in a deep breath, calling upon her old friend, Inner Poise. "It doesn't matter, anyway."

"Where is he?" asked Mabel, reaching for the mouse to scroll up a little. "Oh, it says Thailand."

"Oh, no," Bridget said, Inner Poise shattering. "I'm _leaving_."

"Did she ever tell you about Thailand?" Mark said to Scott.

"Only in bits and pieces," Scott said. "Tell me while we work on supper."

"Mummy went to Thailand?" asked Mabel.

"I want to go to Thailand!" said Billy. "It looks sunny and warm there, even sunnier than California."

"We're going where?" Fred now piped in from the doorway; Mark suspected Matt was still out with Amber, but promised he'd be home for dinner.

"I'm really leaving," Bridget warned. Mark looked up to her, smiling fondly; he rose to his feet and quickly grasped her wrist, pulling her to him.

"Admit it," he said. "You love it."

She resisted smiling as long as she could stand it.

"You're right," she said. "I do."

### Mon, 9 Jan

Mabel had barely slept a wink. The poor girl was so worked up after her birthday party, so worked up in anticipation of her doctor's visit, she had clearly tossed and turned all night. Now, her eyes were drooping and she had nearly fallen to sleep in her breakfast.

"I hope the doctor doesn't yell at me," Mabel said, clearly worried.

"Don't worry," said Bridget, though she couldn't say she wasn't worried too. They were expecting to hear whether they could breathe easy again, whether they'd receive the news they'd been hoping for: the holy "r" word, remission. Mabel had made such great progress, but they had wanted to err on the side of caution proclaiming she was in remission.

"She's not going to yell at you," said Scott.

"Will you yell back if she does?" Mabel asked.

"I don't know that it will come to that," he said, trying not to laugh. "She understands that you're anxious to hear which way things will go today."

"Come on," Mark said, taking her hand reassuringly. "Let's get our coats on and get there. However things go today, you know you've got all of us here on your side."

Mabel smiled wearily. "I know, Dad."

"And you know if they could," Mark continued, "your brothers would be coming with us today to stand by you. They know how scared you are."

"I know," said Mabel. "I'll get lots of hugs later from them."

"That's the spirit," said Bridget, tears hovering in her eyes. 

They were silent in the drive to the hospital, fairly silent in the waiting area; Mabel was fidgety and kept swinging her legs to and fro. Then the nurse came to take them to see Dr Parvinder in her office.

The oncologist's face was impassive, no hint to whether the news they were about to get was good or bad. Bridget's stomach plummeted to her feet. She took Mabel's hand reassuringly in her own; Mark took the other. She felt Scott's hand take her free one.

But then Dr Parvinder smiled, and Bridget knew in an instant the news they'd be getting was good. "The results," she said, tapping the paper on the desk before her, "are better than expected. I think we can safely declare you in remission, Miss Mabel. Congratulations."

The joy Bridget felt bubbled over; she let go of Mabel's hand to pull her into a hug, as tears came flowing unbidden over her cheeks. "Oh, that's wonderful," she said; even as she said it she realised what an understatement it was.

"Bloody fantastic," Mark breathed, reaching to hug put his arms around the two of them. Scott leaned in, too, to contribute to the hug.

Dr Parvinder's smile got even broader. "Always love giving happy news."

Mabel wriggled out of the hug, turned, and with tears streaming down her face, she threw her arms around Mark, sobbing with happiness. "Thank you, Daddy," she said. "Thank you so, so much."

This brought a fresh round of tears from Bridget; Scott's eyes were brimming with tears, but as always tried to maintain his stoicism. Mark, however, lost all restraint over his emotions, and was now weeping openly. He ran his hand down over the back of Mabel's head, down over her blonde hair, kissing her cheek. "I'm so grateful," he said. "So very grateful."

Bridget understood why he had broken down, this man who was normally unrivalled in emotional restraint; he had taken a huge risk returning to save his daughter, and every way in which it could pay off, it had. Gently, Bridget rubbed his back, which seemed to snap him back to the present. He pecked one last kiss on Mabel's cheek, then drew back. "We should probably let the doctor back to her patients," he said quietly. He reached into his jacket pocket for a pocket square, but used it to dry Mabel's tears, not his own. "Maybe I should have brought more of these," he added.

Dr Parvinder leaned to push a box of tissues towards them all. "I've learned to have this handy."

After eyes and noses were suitably dried, they said their goodbyes. Bridget was sorely tempted to hug the doctor but thought it was probably beyond propriety. They did exchange handshakes, though; the doctor reminded them to schedule a follow-up visit and that she would see them at that time.

"Wait until everyone hears," said Bridget, holding Mabel's hand as they walked out of the hospital and back to the car. "Oh, should we go out and get a little early lunch? I feel like celebrating."

"I think we've got time before Mabel goes back to school and we return to work," said Scott. "Anywhere that serves a good mimosa will do, won't it?"

Bridget laughed.

She in fact had three mimosas with brunch, and was high on happiness, on cloud nine, as they returned to the house. "Will you be okay here on your own?" Mark mused. "Shall I work at home and make sure that you don't fall down and hurt yourself?"

She burst out in hopeless giggles. 

"You had better work at home," said Scott. He leaned to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll take Mabel to school. See you later."

"Bye Mummy, Daddy," said Mabel, kissing them each in turn. "I'm so happy I could burst."

"Me too, baby; me too."

Mark held her around the waist as they made their way down the garden path; it wasn't strictly necessary but she wasn't about to complain. He dug into his pocket for the house key, then let them in, quickly disabling the alarm system.

"I'm not really going to fall over," she said as he put his keys down in their place on the table. 

"I have an ulterior motive," he said, turning to focus his gaze upon her. "I decided I didn't want to be alone after even good news. I wanted to be with you."

She understood, and went over to take him in her arms. To her surprise, he began to cry again. He tried to stifle it, but she could feel the silent sobs. She ran her hands over his back in a comforting manner.

"It was all worth it," he said. "I feel redeemed."

She knew what he meant—like he'd finally finished his penance for being away for so long. "You've redeemed yourself plenty already," she murmured, resting against his chest, the fabric of his suit jacket warm yet comforting beneath her cheek. She smoothed one hand over the lapel. "If you're staying home, you should put on something more comfortable."

She felt him take in a breath, then chuckle a little. She knew what he was thinking, the old cliché. 

"I have work to do too," she said, "half-plastered or not. It's just a lot easier to sit comfortably on the sofa, is all."

Together, with the stereo system set to soothing classical cello music, they sat with their respective laptops; she worked on reviewing the script for the film, and he reviewed case notes for a court appearance the next day (or so she gathered from the notes he made on the pad to his right). After a while, though, he stopped typing, set aside the paper pad and then leaned forward to put the laptop on the coffee table. 

"Stop what you're doing," he said. So she saved her progress, set her own laptop down, then turned to look at him. "Come here."

They were sitting side by side, but she scooted closer so that their thighs touched. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. She turned to embrace him better. 

So steady, so reassuring, was his chest rising and falling beneath her. He raked his fingers over her upper arm, rested his cheek against her hair. She in turn rested her cheek near his collarbone. She could feel his heartbeat; so strong, equally reassuring. Their lives were never dull, certainly not quiet, so it was nice to sit and hold each other for just this short while. They didn't speak; they didn't need to. Every once in a while he would press a small kiss onto the crown of her head, and she would do the same where his collarbones came together. She felt content. 

"I hadn't really been able to focus well on the work, anyhow," she murmured. She felt him laugh a little.

"Mmm," he agreed. "Feeling much better. Settled. Refreshed. Like a recharge."

"We should do this more often," she said.

"Yes."

Nothing further was said until the front doorbell started to go off. Even though she hadn't been sleeping, it startled her a bit; she sat up and said, "I'll get the door."

She stood and stretched then walked stiffly to the foyer; she cast a glance back to Mark to see him leaning forward to close the lid of his laptop and hers, too. At the door was Rebecca, looking a bit harried. "So?" she prompted. "How did it go?"

She had completely forgotten about her promise to call when they'd gotten word. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," said Bridget. "It's fine. Mabel's fine. They've declared her in remission."

"Oh, _fantastic_!" Rebecca said, throwing her arms around Bridget and giving her a big hug. "I'm so glad."

"Oh! Why did you come all this way?" asked Bridget. "Why didn't you call me?" 

"I tried," she said. "It just went to voice mail. I messaged you, too. Called Scott but he was apparently out of pocket…"

"Shit," she said. She hadn't worn her watch, and she had forgotten to charge her phone. "I'm sorry. Forgive me?"

"Well durr," said Rebecca. "Your mum's going to kick your arse, though, if you don't get in touch with her. And the Darcys. And Scott's folks. And…"

"I take the point," she said.

"What on earth have you been doing for four hours?"

"Early lunch, then…"

"Hello, Rebecca." It was Mark, calling out as he approached from the sitting room. Rebecca looked confused.

"We were working at home together." Her voice was quiet. "We just wanted to spend time alone in the quiet, in each others' company. This has all been such an emotional roller coaster. Especially for Mark."

Mark appeared. "It's nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you again, too," she said. "I came over because I was on pins and needles about Mabel."

"I'm so sorry," he said.

Rebecca waved her hand as if to say not to worry about it. "It's such good news, I'm in a forgiving mood," Rebecca said.

"We should call family, though," reminded Bridget. 

"Let me make some tea or something while you two light up the phone lines," she said. 

Bridget rang up her mum, her brother, Scott's family, and Chloe in turn (all the while shooting off emails to Shaz, Jude, Tom, Talitha, Magda), and Mark, his parents, his brother, and Daniel. One and all were pleased beyond measure. "If we hadn't just been there for her birthday we'd be right over," said Pam.

"I'll tell her to call you later," Bridget said. 

"Or give her a kiss and hug from me," she said. "Either way she'll know I'm happy for her."

"Okay, Mum," said Bridget. She'd try to make sure they called Pam later, for certain.

"My mother says she's thrilled," Mark said when he finally disconnected. "She said if she and my father hadn't just been here they'd come down."

Bridget laughed, then told him that her mum had just said the same.

Rebecca had served the tea, and offered to make more.

"Sure, though the children will be home from school soon."

"I'll just get out the biscuits, too, then."

When the boys and Mabel arrived home with Scott, it was like the terminus of a joyous parade, with Mabel as the conquering hero: everyone was happy, smiling and laughing. When Mabel saw Rebecca she ran to her for a hug.

"Did you hear?" she asked. "Did you hear?"

"I _did_ hear, darling!" said Rebecca, whipping her up into her arms and spinning her around like a helicopter blade; Mabel giggled almost maniacally. "I am so bloody happy!"

"Why don't you have Jake bring Oli and Finn over and we can all do a dinner together? A proper celebration?"

Rebecca stopped spinning, still holding Mabel—who seemed now to be all arms and legs—on her hip as if she were a baby. Her baby, her youngest, now nine years old. She felt tears well in her eyes.

"You all right?" asked Scott.

"Yup," she said. "Better than all right."

………

When dinner was through, the guests left for home, and the children put to bed for the evening, Mark bid her goodnight with a quick kiss. "You'll be okay?" she asked.

He nodded. "Our time this afternoon helped a lot," he said. "Now that there's not school or company to distract, Scott could probably use the same."

She nodded, then smiled. Such a good, understanding man.

When she went to the master bedroom, she found it empty, which confused her greatly; where was he? But all mystery was cleared up when Scott came in almost directly behind her. "Just checking that we're all locked up and secure," he said. At seeing her expression, he asked, "Something wrong?"

"Was going to ask you the same," she said. "Thought you might like a bit of a cuddle after today's news."

"It was good news, though," he said.

"But even good news is not without stress," she said. "With all the ups and downs of the last… two years, wow… it's good to just decompress."

He looked at her with a similarly intense expression to Mark's. "As always, you're right," he said, smiling. "I'll just wash up first."

"No," she said. " _We_ will wash up first."

They showered together; she took great care in washing him, her touch tender and lingering, and he did the same for her. They embraced under the spray of hot water, letting it sluice down over their bodies, before having one last rinse then exiting to soft, clean, fluffy towels.

With teeth cleaned and hair combed, Bridget pulled back the bedcovers and slipped in, resting upon the pillow. She thought with some amusement that her hair would be a nightmare in the morning, sleeping on it wet, but it hardly mattered in the big picture. She insisted on spooning up to his back to hold him as she thought he needed to be held, propping herself up a little with an extra pillow. She combed her fingers through his close-cropped hair, more greys than ever before, though it was harder to tell with his blond hair. She then kissed him on the temple.

Something unexpected occurred just then: he began to shudder a little, as if coughing, but then in the oblique moonlight, she realised there were tears sliding from the corners of his eyes. Then he began to sob with the emotional release. She couldn't recall seeing him crying before; he had come close at Mabel's diagnosis, but, she realised, he had been staying strong for her, for all of them. She tightened her embrace, snuggled into the hollow of his neck, willed him to just let it all out.

"It's all right," she said softly, reaching to dry his cheek with her thumb.

He nodded, perhaps unable to trust himself to speak.

Only when she was certain he had gone to sleep did she relax enough to fall asleep, too.

### Tues, 10 Jan

When morning came, Scott was already up and out of bed; she could see him shaving in the mirror in the bathroom. She smiled, remembering his vulnerability the night before, and called out, "Morning."

She heard the water run briefly before he appeared, patting at his face with a small towel. "Good morning," he said. "Sleep okay?"

She nodded. "Pretty well. You?"

"Very well," he echoed. "Thank you for last night. I needed that, and didn't even realise it."

"All part of the service," she said, grinning.

"I'll have to return the favour at the soonest," he said. "Time for work."

"It's all right," she said. "I'm good."

"Yes," he said, bending to kiss her. "You are."

After he returned to his morning routine she rose to dress for the day; she had nowhere to go outside of the house, only needed to work some more on the script, but always loved to see the children off to school. After a quick brush through her hair and cleaning her teeth, she went down for some coffee to find that Mark was up, reading the paper, and eating breakfast.

She slid her hand over his shoulder, then kissed him right on the top of his head. He hadn't heard her coming, because this startled him. "Morning," she said. 

"Morning, darling," he said, folding the paper closed and setting it aside.

She poured herself a coffee. "Didn't mean to give you a fright."

"Oh, don't mind that," he said, then finished off his own cup. He rose to get more coffee for himself. "Was just focused on this story, that's all." He set down the cup, then brought his hand up to the small of her back. "Sleep well?"

"Yes," she said. She turned and poured coffee into his cup for him. When she set down the carafe, she said, "He actually cried last night, with the relief of it all." She turned to look at him. "This is a man who never cries. I mean, less than you, even."

"Sounds like he needed it."

She nodded. "Yeah." She realised in that moment that he was not dressed in his suit. "Don't you have to be in court?"

He shook his head. "Got word that there's a delay until Thursday, for some unknown reason. I phoned Jeremy to let him know I won't be coming in today. Going to work from home again."

"Oh," she said. "That'll be nice." After a pause, she said, "I really should work today, though."

He chuckled. "I never said you shouldn't," he said, "though I wouldn't mind breaking to have lunch with you later."

"I think I can fit that into my diary," she said with a light laugh.

With that, the children came thundering down to get their breakfast before school, joined by Scott. The three boys themselves ate enough to feed an army—or so it seemed to Bridget—and Mabel's appetite had long since returned to normal and then some. Almost as quickly they were on their way, after wishes for a good day and rounds of pecks on respective cheeks.

Then the house went quiet again.

"In some ways," Mark said, "it feels like a tornado's just swept though."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Well, I'm going to get to work. Shall we reconvene here at about noon?"

"Sounds good," he said. He set down his now-empty mug, then leaned to peck her cheek. "Until then."

She went to where her laptop awaited in the library, sat down, and only stopped when… well, a question mark began animating on her watch face, with Mark's name above. She realised suddenly that the entire morning had flown by without her noticing. With a few taps she drew a reply, a heart. 

She made sure her changes were saved—she'd made _excellent_ progress!—then headed to the kitchen. She found Mark already there, putting the finishing touches on a large omelette for lunch, with ham, cheddar cheese, green pepper, onion, and mushroom.

"Regular mushrooms, I presume," she said, smirking a little. "It smells fantastic."

"They call this a western omelette in the US," he said. "I grew very fond of it when in DC. There was a little place, a diner, that I went to frequently for breakfast." He chuckled to himself as he transferred the food to their plates. "I must have put on a stone in the first six weeks I was there."

"You?"

"Mm-hmm," he said. "I wasn't living very healthily at first. I was feeling down, not exercising. I was very low." He handed her a plate. "Then I realised I was doing myself no good; if I had any hope of going home I had to keep taking care of myself."

She remembered her own lowest point. They sat to eat together at the breakfast nook, and she told him all about her own actual struggle with her weight and health. "After a lifetime of obsessing about my weight," she said, "I didn't care about it at all after… after you were gone. After I hurt my back trying to pick up Mabel, I went to the doctor, who told me I needed to lose weight or it was just going to get worse. I ended up going to a special programme at the hospital to shed that baby weight… five years after the baby."

Mark looked to his plate. "I never heard about that from Jeremy."

"He probably didn't want you to worry," she said, reaching out her hand to pat his own. "It's all right now, obviously. My back's been fine ever since."

"I know," he said, looking at her. "I meant more about… I just hate thinking of that time, what you went through."

"Sssh," she said. "I forbid you to think about that, okay?"

Sheepishly, he grinned. "It's very hard not to," he said. She knew that all too well. With his lunch now completely polished off, he set down the fork, then touched his napkin to his lips. "I should get back to my briefs."

She nodded. "Should get back to the script." They cleared their lunch plates away from the breakfast nook and loaded them into the dishwasher. She laughed a little. "I always feel like a naughty, truant schoolgirl, working from home."

"I know what you mean," he said. "Well. Not a school _girl_ , per se."

She couldn't help laughing again, then went over to slide her hand into his. "Speaking of naughty and truant," she said, "do you think you might spare a few minutes more away from your briefs?"

His brows rose. "I have a feeling you perhaps don't mean the legal sort."

"Maybe I don't," she said. On a more serious note, she added, "I just liked our time yesterday afternoon. Wanted a little more. Maybe more than just a little more."

"Far be it from me to _not_ grant your every wish," he said. He tightened his hand around hers. "The briefs can wait."

They went upstairs to Mark's attic bedroom. He divested her of her clothing and she did the same for him, then they spent a long time just entwined in each other's arms, skin to skin, sharing loving kisses and caresses before the inevitable, ecstatic culmination.

As they lay together in bliss, Bridget sighed, snuggled closely against the pulse in his throat. "Is so nice to just…" She trailed off.

"Yes," he said. "Though… I really should put myself together and finish those briefs."

"I know," she said reluctantly, though did not move away from him, nor did he move to push her from atop him.

"The children will be home before we know it," he reminded. 

"Matt can take care of their tea," Bridget said.

"I'm supposed to help Matt with his school project."

"After dinner," she said, waving her hand. "Eons from now."

"Bridget," he said. "You're a terrible influence."

"This should not be news to you, Mark Darcy."

He laughed, a deep, wonderful, throaty laugh, then turned to kiss her.

She was ultimately persuaded to not be found abed by their nine-year-old daughter, to open themselves up to endless teasing by Scott, so they rose and composed themselves. With a parting kiss they left the bedroom, Mark for his home office, and Bridget back to the library. The sound of children returning to the house brought her to the present; she had spent time regaining her focus after the relaxing afternoon interlude, but once she had, nothing had disturbed her.

She was done for the day, she decided, and closed her laptop. It was time to go and give those children a great big hug.


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who have stayed along for the ride and for indulging me. :-)

### Sat, 3 June 2017

Dear Diary.

I am not very good at keeping a diary. I got one for my 9th birthday in January, but lost it 'til now. I will try to be better.

I am good. It has been since just after my birthday that I got in remission. I had a check-up again and I am doing even better. 

As for my family. 

  * Daddy says he is going to probably retire soon, but I bet he doesn't. He has lots of grey hair by his ears now. He's old! He's 60! But he still likes to go play squash and stuff, so he doesn't look so old. 
  * Dah still is sports teacher at Billy's school. He says he doesn't want to retire. He loves bossing around all the kids, I think. He's good at it, but I mean that in a good way. 
  * Mummy is writing a new movie so she is cranky lately. Her hair is getting long! She wears it up in a twist with a fancy stick through it. When my hair gets long again I want to do that. (It's getting to my shoulders. It doesn't grow very fast.) 
  * Matt is good. He is going to uni in the autumn! He is going to Daddy's uni. He wants to do law like Daddy. He's very smart and he's going to be really good at it. Dah is happy because he says he doesn't want them going into the military like he did. He still likes taking photos too 
  * Fred is good, too. He seems to be getting really smart at computers! He has made his own video game. It's not very fancy but I don't think I could do it. Maybe he can teach me. 
  * Billy is also good, too. He writes a lot in his notebook. He won't let me see. I think he is making up stories like Mummy does. I'm going to make him let me read it when he is done, or maybe I'll just borrow the notebook when he's not looking. (I woulda said 'steal' but I'm not going to keep it.)



Next week is the summer concert for Billy's school. They are going to do it at Capthorpe House again, since I'm all better now. Daddy's very happy that he will get to see Billy play in the garden there. Billy didn't do it last year, even though I was already on the mend. 

School is okay. I am not a good speller, but I'm doing maths well. Mummy wants to know if I am an alien baby, or if I was swapped at the hospital with her real kid. (I know she's only kidding. Since Daddy and I are matches, I know he is my real daddy. I think she said it because she's rubbish at maths.)

Oli is doing great. She is still my best friend. In fact, she's almost like my sister, which is good, since Mummy isn't going to give me a real sister (and told me to stop asking already). Oli is taller than me now, but I could still catch up. I've got lots of time to still grow, plus now I have very healthy cells from Daddy. Cosmata and Thelonius are good too, though we don't go to the same school anymore, so I don't see them too much. Oli and I go to the same school so I get to see her all the time during the week and even on the weekends. My other best friend at school is called Lily, which Mummy thinks is funny, as a lily is a plant too. I heard Mummy say to Dah that 'Lily' is the least weird of my friends' names, when she has a friend called Shazzer. Mummy is weird. 

We are going to California again after the term is over. Hurrah!! (As Mummy likes to say.) We are going to see some of the filming with my friends from the pictures, Roxy and Rob. Mummy said that they said they can't wait to see us! Even though we just saw Auntie Shazzer for Mummy's big birthday party in March, we'll visit with her again too. I hope we can see the dinosaurs again. We're going to meet some old friends of Mummy and Daddy's, too. They do law stuff like Daddy, or at least they used to. I think they retired or something.

Ooh, Mummy is calling that Oli and Finn are here. We are going to watch a picture and have candy, soft drinks and make popcorn. I hope we all fit in the media room: Mummy, Daddy, Dah, Matt, Amber, Fred, Billy, Rebecca, Jake, Finn, Oli, and me (of course). 

Wow. That's a lot of people! It'll be fun.

Bye for now!

_The end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Links**
> 
>   * [Calendar, 2015, UK](http://www.timeanddate.com/calendar/?year=2015&country=9)
>   * [Los Angeles Villa Rentals](http://lavillarentals.com/property/hollywood-celebrity-estate/), if you want to get a bit jealous.
>   * [A triangle 7 step yosegi puzzle.](http://www.puzzlemaster.ca/browse/wood/japanese/275-triangle-7-step-yosegi)
>   * The mermaid statue / fountain in Ghirardelli Square by Ruth Asawa: 
>     * [Mermaids of Earth](http://mermaidsofearth.com/mermaid-statues-ghirardelli-square/)
>     * [Timothy J's photostream on Flickr](https://www.flickr.com/photos/15572047@N00/170077793)
>     * [Flickr Hive Mind](http://flickrhivemind.net/Tags/ghirardellisquarestatue,sanfrancisco/Interesting)
>   * [Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171621) by Robert Frost 
> 



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